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.

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

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

"remember [that you have] to play."