new blog series…in parts…Up With the Words


– a philosophy-of-language series –

in the sociology of knowledge

In handwriting, the relation of Being to man, namely the word, is inscribed in beings themselves”

-Martin Heidegger-

Saying ceases to signify: it reveals realities that are unintelligible and untranslatable

but not incomprehensible. It does not signify, yet at the same time

it is impregnated with meaning.”

-Octavio Paz-

I’ and not-‘I’…one projecting the outer world to the inside,

the other projecting the inside to the outer world [perception],

as a result of mutual conditioning…

language creation occurs where new layers of reality and insight

are opened up.”

-Hermann Broch-

full of you’ll never know what will turn up”

-Madeline Gins-

Part 1: Writing at Hand (Drawing from drawing, sketches of the word)

To be rigorously true to real life (living, forming, becoming, always changing, and “full of you’ll never know what will turn up” –Gins) – its core, its essence, an identity or style: FLEXIBILITY.

To be: artifacts in space and time, “beings themselves,” words : inscribed with fullness of life, as fullness of life, into the arena of malleable life.

Object and action. Content informed. Activity and expression. Artifact and energy. Verb-al and signifying. Image and text.

Fluid like air bordering, permeating all things

Substantial like raindrops and rocks – objective presences, assimilable and distinct.

Energy and stasis. Reduced and expansive.

Sign and signifiant.

subject and object.


medium and matter

conveyor and creator

virus and vaccine


symbiosis and annihilation of Either/Or

inherent argument against Both/And

Presence and/in/with/through Absence


a thing, an action, a subject, an object, a without-which-perhaps-nothing,

a with-which-very-little

almost nothing


possibility and elimination / among and without

the difference


bridge and abyss, rift and synthesis



perception and preconception. observant and observed. verbal and nominal.

comprehensible and ineffable


Swinging the Breaches

Hugo von Hofmannsthal

Each time I read again von Hofmannsthal’s “The Letter of Lord Chandos,” I resonate with it profoundly, each time with unique phrases and observations in it.  Today it is the bewildering of art-working, the too much and too little of it at once.  The overwhelm that becomes as perception received / perceptions projected cross and mingle in a deafening void – filled with “the thoughts of so many others caught and resting there.”

Hermann Broch, writing on von Hofmannsthal, speaks of man “unable to bridge the tension between perceiving and the perceived, completely at the mercy of unperceivable experiences, of objects, their impalpability, incomprehensibility, their irony…the contrast of the ‘I’ and the ‘non-I,” of being-‘I’ and being-the-world…one projecting the outer world to the inside, the other projecting the inside to the outer world, a result of mutual conditioning.”

“For of what elements does this non-‘I’ consist, this exterior world wherewith the ‘I’ is supposed to identify itself?  Firstly, the world is in constant motion; secondly, and this is far more disturbing: all means of expression (linguistic or otherwise) given to man to describe the world are part of that world; and thus, thirdly, with each act of identification a portion of the ‘I’ enters the non-‘I’, changing and enriching the non-‘I’ so that a new act of identification becomes a necessity…which leaves only ever a work in progress and never a completed work of art”

My case in short: I have lost completely the ability to think or to speak of anything coherently” I feel the terms crumble and proliferate in my mindmouth (heart?) – “to me it is as though my body consists of nought but ciphers which give me the key to everything” – the impressions that stir in and assault me, the world and its stuff that I soak in, hear, sense, the thoughts of so many others – indecipherable ciphers in me that feel they possess the key to everything…but for which I have no words…

So I face and engage the world, “experiences,” events, persons, the blank page, pregnant, saturate with languages that don’t equal…“because the language in which I might be able not only to write but to think, is neither Latin nor English, neither Italian nor Spanish, but a language none of whose words is known to me”

continually speechless in this profligate void

So what is to be done?  No completing, “a new act of identification becomes a necessity,” apparently woven of my scattering perceptive confusion/profusion and all the not-‘I’ that feels so everywhere-at-once…it leaves Chandos silent, and a whole tribe of Bartleby’s…faced with a world and enormous impressions…but no apparent vocabulary fulfilling them both?

Silence?  Or, possibly…

“Saying, it ceases to signify: it reveals realities that are unintelligible and untranslatable but not incomprehensible.  It does not signify, yet at the same time it is impregnated with meaning” (-Octavio Paz-)

The breaches…speechless moments…never quite right…can I swing them?  Term the betweens?  To the breach – !!