Lava is rock come alive,

just like a poor commercial song which repeated rhythm or words ad nauseam impregnate the short term memory. But vomit is sticky too.

As all things, it didn’t come out from that void linguistic concept, nothing.

It came from Wallace Stevens’ love for rocks, J.S. Porter’s mentioning of it, and Jaan Kaplinski’s love for rocks. There might be an association in between ageing and love for rocks. Perhaps it is an opposite movement to Love rocks.

I take pleasure from crystallizing mineral ideas.

Paloma Niskier is interested in meditation. Kaplinski was also, and studied Mahayana Buddhism and philosophies of the Far East. He wrote:

Perhaps sometimes I understand

what is what they call meditation. An endless

and beginningless journey upwards

in silence and void. A journey upwards

to the unproblematic light. Although

in this void there is no direction or distinction

between opposites. This void

is less than darkness and more than light. In this light

there is no light and no darkness. No less

and no more. No something. No nothing.

Only an endless and beginningless journey

in the shining, windless... until suddenly

I stumble on something I have known before:

the disfigured body of a young recruit from Tartu

beaten to death by his fellow soldiers.

Or the black cat nailed to a tree by some kids.

No more. No less. Endless. Beginningless. Journey.

My meditation is at the level of my preguiça, my laziness.

My laziness is at the level of rocks.

Rocks are stardust.

Dust is on my bookshelves.

My selves are lava come alive.

I think I can meditate up the worst things ever. Considering that exclusivity is not a very human attribute, it might well be that I’m not the sole achiever.

Breathe in, breathe out. Laughter ruins all breathing discipline, even though one breathes out and in quite deeply during and after it. Damn, laughter is a breathing discipline.