Humanity, Creativity & the Imagination

The fundamental act of the imagination = intuition as faculty of origin & intuitive searches as layers of curtains boxes sliding doors & spirals beyond to prosper imagine put a value on it watch it open up to the consequential essential of It?

The fundamental act of the imagination = intuition as faculty of origin &

intuitive searchesaslayers of curtainsboxes sliding doors

& spirals beyond

to prosperimagineput a value on itwatch it open up to the consequential

essential of it?

the discourse:

outside the turbulence is this creativity inside the sphere of humanity discovering

itself as the animal factor in being alive—

i see you, writer, see you w/in the context or outside the crucial

element/to discover the jarring repository of intuitions w/in

oh, the value of it

i see you, reader, among the words paragraphs pages of thousands do you see

her inside the world of the imagination? what she promises the universe of things

or rescues what she can and plays to the vicariousness of light/the richness of

pure saying

The fundamental act of the imagination/organic being of becoming or vitality of

inventive intuitions remembering the responsibility to whom/dear readers/dear

writers/the zeitgeist of the times?

To thrive in reciprocity is to share this creative mind into which we dig value

& deepen the process of riches not exclusive to those who use it but as inclusive

wholeness, a responsibility to shed light in dark foreboding realms wherever

it erupts

The imagination girds itself to perceive the vast undertaking: awareness, sensitivity,

carefulness. Etc.

A Right. Not A Privilege = Universal Humanity

Here, then, is the intrinsic vulnerability of creating value. Making yourself known &

having no power $ is to divine this vulnerability but make it work $ is to step into

the morass & mess it up before the actor $ can know what goes on inside that

makeshift $ storm?

inimitable conversations? inner connections? outer reflections?

In the name of WHO?

Tell me, Reader. That writer. What does she achieve? Gifts of Meaning? Value? Light? Offerings of riches beyond the saying of them?

Tell me, Writer. This relationship between you and the Reader—

Let it be a giving away to. An interpretation of. A discourse. A dance. A reciprocity.

What it says. What it does. How it affects. Why it creates. This consequence b/t

writers and readers. To do. To be. To live. To want. To ask. To strive.

To become # Active # Robust Primacy #Imagination

open the sphere & let me see you. writer/reader your creativity born w/in like

a deep pool of value running in place & the wind at your back to blow it all o/side

the contours of the #imagination the space where creativity thrives & gives &

becomes and & lives & is not still but an aura of gratitude you are here alive and one w/the wholeness of it. surely, you understand, sweetie. Surely you see the little light drilled down gripping the completion

Some/day if only now the sphere could tell you it holds the root of life itself defining

terms or is it the other way around this thing that drives humanity these words

I Am that identities us as beings in the act of

creating/what is life w/o the imagination

There is in the mind that which holds these things together: Suitcases packed inside speculative imaginings. Backpacks writing letters & mementos & notes & clippings & photos & eternal musings. Sliding doors. Peak-a-boo holes. Strata of distant thoughts hurtling inside the turbulence. This sphere of the mind. A bundled

projection. You. Me. All those out there somewhere:

The primary imagination I hold to be

the living power and prime agent of all

human perceptions, and as a repetition

of the finite mind of the eternal act of

creation in the infinite I Am.

Biographia Literaria

Samuel Taylor Coleridge



As source & subject of matter

& correspondent breeze

This close read


Syntactical complexity

are you reading me reading you on the other side?

If inspiration is not in/grown, then what is it? A force to give or like a struggle w/in

that turbulence locking you in or locking you out Take your pick you win or lose.

Big Problem.

Posit this question:

Why do you write? Compulsion? Joy? Inspiration? Love? Endearment? Necessary

source? A fortunate turn of the wheel found under the bed?

You read too many books when you were a child. Seek it there

the connection lurking

in the corners of the page

recreating the wonders

of that lost bookworm

living inside the words

turning those pages

making it all up

the mind’s whole/ness

crafting her future

inside the sphere like quanta you can’t know whether empty or full inside the

neurons networking & charging & releasing the synapses that beautiful close

read of your mind as text breathing characters in one brilliant structural fusion

just pretend it’s real

infinity speaking out

do it now. write that first sentence/find the one that makes it all work. the glorious

sense of it. the words. the phrases. the sentences. the paragraphs. secured in recall

& structure via intention or explanation

Know this: The Imagination does not procrastinate. It does not sleep. It walks

upright bumping into you w/in its turbulent boundaries, stutter stepping to

righteous flow, the process break/thru a tactical freight train rolling along

A strategy is what you need. To write. To read. To find that first sentence the day

you were born. Those first words. They mean something these facts of your

existence. The imagination w/in the egg. Do not allow them to encase you smaller

than your self.

it is hard work being this…

looking back at you being the critic being you looking in the mirror

fearing/longing/wishing/dreaming/seeing/knowing/apart from the headlines/

the possibility of great meanings

or maybe it’s b/t the lines the story writes you writing it objectively seeing

made-up truth. it could happen. once it did & you became the objective of

the subjective you

inside the first sentence you can’t think of. the one you were born with.

plot/theme/character/mood/tone/ this visual verbal epiphany when

the world of the living became one & the connectedness of all things outside

yourself/here and not there/this person and not that one/

why are they climbing the wall and they are not i?

What is the subjective me & objective I. Inside the imagination if I create my

speculative fiction do I then exist? Does the creative imagination make me

who I am?






ethical value is the reality not in opposition to anything except the power

to oppose it. say this out loud

the imagined life

the reading life

the writing life

be here