Tempo in Orange
If emotion and intuition are the interpretation of energy and logic and intelligence are the processing of matter, both coupled with the former being the more immature and less evolved, could it be the present tense that did not allow memory to teach me the capture of each leaf had a deadline? And if thought is a processing of chemicals evolved into words, is sensation the building blocks of thought? Because joy should have compelled me to stop. Write. And finish. Before departing the opportunity. Is joy an orange dance or some data structure I evolved from the base emotion? Does child emotion/logic evolve to the point where it is something else? And what are these new chemicals?
Each sound has an energy, but does it have a quantifiable logic. Frequency is not quite pitch. Frequency is the bouncing of each particle and its return over time. Pitch is perceptive highness or lowness. Amplitude is scratching the bark—harshly or softly. Timbre is the shape who God only knows if friction is relevant. You could not ask me what a musical note was years ago. The heat makes the desire to scratch less desirable—parched. Bark cracks down red dirt dissolved by roots. And now I know why sound frequency is not light frequency—photons contrast moving particles. Tepid air on a graph—light particle existence contrast light particle travels crashing. Sniffles of inability to discipline children achoo-ing all over me in present-memory of lukewarm air. Wavering leaves like a high level program to the low level sniffling vibrations over time in the cells. Science fail me not! Mitochondria connected to cell walls interconnected in structure incompatible with Western dissection of the interconnected unquantified.
Light’s interconnection of the unquantified data structure in a photo contrasts sound’s dissection. Orange leaves once full fell from last week feels depressing. Hamlet’s emotive grief intersected with linear logic to grasp peace with even when a sword inserts into my chest. Right now I’m happy. Then I’m sad. Wait no, I’m supposed to be angry first. Melancholy is not in the vocabulary. Wait. Acceptance? Um, I’m doing this wrong. Brown bark. Then orange leaves. Then leaf on floor arrives. Then darkness comes. Then air burns. Wait, no one gave me the steps for this.
And all of this while people watch. People around here don’t make these decisions. Why am I on the corner? Who am I waiting for? I want to touch, but not in public. Bark would feel more real. Branches would feel more describable. Thorns would be detectable. A metal nut in the middle of the scene. Really? Dots on leaves—chimerica/chemical. Light can be a sensor like an eye. Temperatures produce certain chemicals produce certain colours.
Does the taste of orange have an order like it has a tempo? Does it become orange slices that become sugary-oranges? And bark is less desirable but could incite a scent. This must be figured out. We must decipher where to place the phenomena. There is no fruit on the tree, but abstraction is derived. It could become anything. And we will love every lie.
Sky blue rain on the canvas of redden-ed dirt. Chimerica the nation for candy rain and barren thoughts made magical. Light photons smash into a sound. Equation for a Hawking.
Leaf-Lines curve like tentacles unlike curving space as a light bulb.
Chimerica capture the cell.
Chimerica describe the cell.
Chimerica quantify the cell.