I, for instants…renewed?


I wish I were an I, some gathered locus of selves, remarkable.

A fullness that might be characterized, signified.

Even the assortment of lines that structure my name – hundreds of corners and swerves, crossings and redirections, don’t represent much of me.

And the little pronouns – they might direct one toward the objective subject that I am, but they’re pointing everywhere.

So I scribble, sketch, doodle and draw, adding lines upon lines, erasing, rewriting, deleting and searching thesauri and definitions…

It comes out looking like this:

or sometimes this:

signs and diagrams, theoretical possibilities, charts and patterns, fantasies, dreams

ever in search of the neologism

some necessary invented term

"A word is a bridge thrown between myself and an other - a territory shared by both" - M. Bakhtin

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