For some reason this old post was on my stats page today…I opened it and browsed through and it says things again that I continue to experience:
thank you persistent workers and players of WordPress!
(click on image or title for past post)
Month: February 2013
Spontaneous Reduction
Then I dropped my voice – BOOM – right onto the sidewalk.
A glitter, a spritzing, a spark. A diffusion and ooze. It runs out.
Watch it pour along the surface, draining toward sewage.
Voice. A voice. My voice. Sploosh.
All the books I want are priceless.
Those I need – they cost too much.
I am a writer who learns.
I am a learner who writes.
I am a failure that loves.
I am a lover that fails.
It becomes apparent: Yes, I am. A parent.
The book I am not reading –
caught in a withdrawal.
That is, boundaried from writing.
Between abstraction, and empathy.
There lies a void, inevitably.
You can’t trust silence.
We rush to fill.
(That distant sound).
Therefore,
I read for conversation.
(don’t fulfill responsibilities)
Attention. Integrity. Inquiry. Response.
(-ability)
I simply tripped, a clumsiness
[I dropped my voice]
but I am here.
Enmeshed in words but unable.
(metadata lacking)
I’m no librarian.
Vague because I say so.
(my human apparatus little equipped for the overwhelm of data)
Ant in a kingdom
-of words-
of signifiers.
Less than that.
I wrap my brain around it.
Waving goodbye to body.
My voice drops.
Work
Where what I do, does
“Was there ever a period when my words weren’t already headed?”
-R.M. Berry-
the Superstitious Naked Ape had the great idea of each of you offering a photo of your workspaces – see comment below – would be intriguing – feel free to provide
Points of a Journey
Thank goodness (again) for Friday Fictioneers – fostering the insistence and reprieve of manageable creative work when I’m finding it ever so hard to pull away from endless research. I always mean to set aside a little time, or “get to it” at a break – and just write awhile…but days have a way of eluding me. So thank you Rochelle et. al. for the weekly prompt and community that kindly obligates us to create, at least a few paragraphs, 100 words (I borrowed 9 from Doug). A healthy distraction.
The beginning is filled with arrivals/departures, dogfights of fly-bys and paradise islands. Ecstasy and remorse, all seeped in the past and aimed toward a future, took place in realms in-between. Between a rock and hard place, between the cities we called home, between obligations and accidents, here and there, me and you.
In the long middle we developed mistrust and fostered desire. Building on distance with dependencies and betrayals. Which flies faster – a sparrow? Depends which side the wings are on. We flew and we crashed. We survived.
Bringing us to the end, the point at which we always arrive, together.
N Filbert 2013
Currently Reading
Greetings and so many thanks for those of you who take the time to investigate my works here. Our lives have been a bit topsy-turvy in the ekphrastic household – I’m adjusting back into another semester of Library & Information Science, Holly is busy practicing and painting and starting more graduate education in Expressive Arts Therapy, the kids are growing and struggling and succeeding and being beautiful young people in our world. All that to say I haven’t had the open spaces for creative composition that function effectively for creating new verbal connections – I’m sure they’re happening, I just haven’t had the time to attend very closely and note them down. I received a request to update my Currently Reading page, which I usually do 2 or 3 times a year, or as the books-at-hand protecting my desk/work area experience significant change. My “To the Library” post offered a number of new (to me) books that I’m currently intently poring through, and here are a few more titles this week:
Frank by R.M. Berry
and I’ll work on a refresher of my Currently Reading page soon!
fRiction
“The more narrowly we examine language, the sharper becomes the conflict between it and our requirement. (For the crystalline purity of logic was, of course, not a result of investigation; it was a requirement.) The conflict becomes intolerable; the requirement is now in danger of becoming empty. – We have got onto slippery ice where there is no friction and so in a certain sense the conditions are ideal, but also, just because of that, we are unable to walk. We want to walk; so we need friction. Back to the rough ground!”
-Ludwig Wittgenstein-
“Language is a labyrinth of paths. You approach from one side and know your way about; you approach the same place from another side and no longer know your way about.”
TO THE LIBRARY!!!!
Weekend classes in Library & Information Science =
here’s a glorious sample to browse the “information”: Language & Representation, David Blair
with the music of:
Fictions of Family, pt. 10
the developing words:
and part 10:
10
It taking so long to figure it out. What it’s “about.”
Discombobulates like sporadic noise. The fragments living are.
Four decades, seven children from three wives until he recognizes relation. Which changes things. Significantly.
It is the third wife (times charm) – out three strikes she staid on. Stays on. The difference between things.
In relation to one another. Evolving perception. The what-not, call it “aboutness.” Or in relation to…
This in relation to that is about this much this high this far. Or else nothing at all. In itself. By itself.
By himself, barely amount, insignificant cipher, plus three plus seven plus anything adding up, er, becomes.
Alone is less than one, or, not a number. It takes 1 to know 1, in other words, all-one really means no 1. Unless distinguished from something else, another 1, an other.
This he could tell. The third wife, the difference between. The aboutness. Differing shapes entirely, nearer still, at this distance.
1 cannot equal. Impossible equation. Might as well be naught, be 0 – a 1 wrapped around itself (turned-in) – revealing just a hole, something seen through. Looked straight through.
Telescope, microscope, still substance unseen, a looking at, really, looking for. Simply looking, opened at both ends. Perhaps a simple function. What an organism is, alone.
She calls out, in fact pursues him halfway across. As if to say she sees something, peering through her self-same circularity – that he is there. He begins experience, begins to get it – something else must be looking, another 1, for him to be seen, to hear of himself.
In what she tells him.
Multiple inputs introduce noise (read chaos, read being), make possibilities, provide things to figure out. With all the variables it takes a lot of time (to get what it’s about).
All my Words are Silent 