In the Spring Wells of Shambhala, Season is the Art of the Black Moon of Non-Euclidean Relative Space-Time Conventions of Alblackica

GYAN-GANJ PLATE II, Samij Datta, 2011

In the Spring Wells of Shambhala, Season is the Art of the Black Moon of Non-Euclidean Relative Space-Time Conventions of Alblackica


Some may forget the days when the frou-gratiya moon of the sun was dancing in the sphinx and in the zabber of the glass-bohemian plates, and into the hydro solvents; alca oktamin of the heroic nights was a vehicle of super conscious states- lines frozen in the harmonics saw the welling nectar of life, the kovak kovim kovrit chiming with colors of the dianthus spring turning every substance to alblackica; the paths that lead to madness are the orange fruits that bite the winds blowing into many streams of the desert land; alpha randomizes the motion of the points for the beta-dero action of the its supplement and in the rhyming season of the clock-anticlock, the rooster is the dragon of the walking yak in vak eating the infinite spacelets in the time domain letters of the Katter to the Zatter.

Ancient willows are supernal when the bands that circle them are speaking to the tree’s leaves that have fallen and rolled into the spatial-mud that shelters the earthworms, they say hyperbolic space has more room for the line continuums from the origin, they collate matter and spirit into idiomatic functions of daily life: red burns with the orange pulp, the yellow sea is the wime-flame that exhumes energy from the Nosferatu of the ideal dreams, the magnificent is known from the seven beats of the prima matra, a lonely daisy is the mother of the sun that has the cross-legged bow of the helianthus moon, apocryphal letters are art per se in the window vision of the film through which the protagonist shows a room within a room of ruins, the past dialect transferred into the new writing code of the sublime texts, mannerisms are original disguises through which the truth hides the falsehood from the dire neglect of the race, atrophy of the mind leads to confusion and death; lets join the cubic dream for reality is constant within its film.

– Joy Roy Choudhury

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