Scribbling chapters that don’t belong…(2)

2.  The Chorus

“As for we who ‘love to be astonished’…

…A pause, a rose, something on paper implicit in the fragmentary text”

(Lyn Hejinian)


I.e. “the loss was always implicit as the longing” (Alain de Botton).  And I quote, quoting from someone else’s quotation, but I forget which (or whose).  For.

I’m certain for various reasons.  Which beggar the certainty.

A pause, arose, and fragmented this text.

Because I don’t


what I’m


I am writing,

and it questions.

            As if we could get intimate with our process, so near it as to join.  In other words, if our action, breathing, effort, language, thinking, senses and the uncountable inborn “blind spots” that a human system circulates were, well…coterminus.

Is that a question lacking its mark?

It would seem so.  About.

Either too large or too small, perceptively, I suspect.

Causing a pause to rise,

as I search for something implicit.


Given the fragmentary text(s) (you agree?) I have to ask:  might writing be possibling an other?  “Consciousness is always consciousness of something” (he said).

That is a possibility, isn’t it?  (the second part’s elusive),

Blatantly – I feel caught in a snare I am setting, as spacious as I imagine chance to be, (having no other name I can call it), ensnared as I seem – some web, some matrix, some universe and beyond – too large or too small to perceive (I am guessing)

which always gives rise to a pause, implicitly.

What I had hoped to make explicit.

What I call “wanting actually resonate,” some loss implicit as longing.

I write, asking more than it answers, or “the closer the look one takes at a word, the greater the distance from which it looks back” (Karl Kraus, which I quote off someone else, who knows who – yet I hope someone does!)

“But of any material, the first thing to make is an ash-tray”

(Lyn Hejinian, I quote this text from its source,


3 thoughts on “Scribbling chapters that don’t belong…(2)

  1. I was in where the words hit me in thoughts… I am a reader; I read… I am a student (of this language); I search… I am a writer; I try to understand… the bridge, no, all the bridges between them take me a mind voyage… To write… is a voice without sound…. like to be lost in misty dawn… waits only the sun rising to be seen…. It was a wonderful written pieces (both of them, 1 and 2) I enjoyed to read them. Thank you dear N Filbert. Love, nia

  2. thank you nia! there are 5 of them now, I’ll release one each day, but i find they are connecting…referencing… repeating… i wonder if they should be read together… we’ll see when they cease i suppose. happy birthday again and thank you for taking time

  3. As you noticed I read them together and it was nice… and now I wonder the others… You are welcome and Thank you for your nice wishes, love, nia

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

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