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Versions of Progress Matthew Cooperman

Seeking the old kingdom of quiet he enters the hall and takes a seat. Takes, as in a time, the occupying tendency, as enters might mean plunge. "It's a halo glow from a filmic descent of icons over Los Angeles." This is one way to say practice, practice. This is one way to show distance.

There's a notion to sitting of progress, but the years go by as separate breaths. Or the years go by and the breathing continues. Who is he to demand a sense of achievement? We live in dreams which are next to other dreams.

Hegel suggests the swirl, the upward thrush flying always to the celestial nest. Is there a we in a universe of atoms? Let's start with specifics: autumn weekends, refuge, asses, the lotus meaning/labeling of mind. The film motif turns out to be herring, a fishy way of employing drift. But then

it's conflation, a girl's life with his own, the odd sense of arriving here or there in a how town. Buddhas, yes, and preconceptions, the now some liquid amber turning gold against the Gotham residue of a courthouse, counting bricks.

We count thoughts but they don't turn into kingdoms. A dove-cote of possession so says Plato. We have ideals but they don't turn into achievement. The labeling "if I'm lucky" is a way of seeing progress. It's just Los Angeles, twenty workers in a room, fidgeting. Slow mudra walk, twenty pigeons on the sill. . .

"The head is connected to the neck which is an ass, there being a primal magic to the spine." He thinks of this as his vestigial tale, as impending sex or past lives. There is enough here to say we are delicious, people try real hard.

Let's forget Hegel and assume practice. Taking a seat is a good picture of work. The capital we fund is the building across the way. It's Doric in the way your neighbor is Doric, standing in his yard supporting the sky.

Your neighbor nods on her cushion. Angels, the city, angles. It's a quiet you just might buy. He tries this out as Sunday. His left hip aches from the weight. Despite the static from the film, the pigeons, this trying turns out to be.