this poem was a reminder of the possibility of play without change.
earlier today i dwelt on the phrase 'play without games'.
can we play without moving?
can we play without moving anything else?
can we play without the idea of motion or transformation or anything?
can we play without change?

"when the worms detect rain,
 they do not move.

 a game for one or more players
   instructions for each player:
      you are pinned at a specific point
      in the sky.
      you can see all things, even the worm,
          even the rain.
      you can see all players, even yourself.
      when you see a player
          (which is always)
          you gain no points.
   players have 0 points.
   the game has no beginning and no end.

 for the purposes of this game,
 the moon does not move
 like the worms."

this poem is a reminder of what it reminds me of, but poorly

"a game that slots into a game-shaped hole in your life
  but wonder, why is the hole game-shaped?
  where did the hole come from?
  what is life
  without the hole?"

"look!
 heavens vault over
 and over the sundog billionaires
 high scores under violet skies
 violet sky tables
 
 remember red and ultramarine
 weather changes
 lightning heather skies
 glow and praise the vault eternal
 but not its shining face."

this poem sucks, but it's another reminder of something that's already slipping away. i'm writing instead of remembering. i'm listening to the high priestess.

"awaiting my skies
 arresting blue
 blue with cloud white
 clouds you

 intoxicate
 and arrest blue
 and cloud

 that skies grey
 over and static
 black and white
 withdrawal silence."

this poem was, as they often are, a reminder to play. and sort of a question or statement about what's real.

"labour in
 labour out day after
 ██████████ after year
 of play work and sleep
 real."

i wrote this poem for gate at a moment when i did not have an answer and instead

this poem is a reminder to forget. the beauty of forgetting. the love of a good emptiness. to play the game where forget.

the void is one of christopher alexander's fifteen properties of life. structure-preserving transformations result in a void adjacent rich complexity.

i like the opportunity to reflect on the true shape of things. i like noise followed by silence. complexity, then the void. what can exist in such an empty space before it ceases to function as this particular type of void is unknown to me. i know only that there is a characteristic void, meaning that there exists also some not-void. a space slightly too loud for emptiness to thrive.

this poem is a reminder to be empty and to remember and to forget and to be full.

play the game where empty.

"a nothing memory could take
 the place of nothings a memory
 replaces with fire
       and life sweet
 nothing that memories
 kill hideous
 nothing too put to death
 by memorys
 advent and always memory
 kills cuckoo
 like and like water fills
 the massive vessel empty with nothing
 who dies like a nothing memory
 to blame."

these poems are a kind of reminder of the inevitability of playing.

"remember [that you have] to play."

"do you know anything meaning
 even black skies still
 drifting and sidewalks long
 city walks
 do you know?"

"it's pretty
 bright and beautiful
 gods on earth play
 killing games as an illustration
 meaning cows
 mortal games for becoming
 more than mirrors reflecting
 moons shining or plaything."
 

"do you think
 we only play at being alive
 with each other pretend
 moving makes us greater than
 believing that
 believing in each other
 having ends without ends
 our meaning?"