“I am in words, I am made of words, of the words of others, what others, this place too, the air too…”
As the semester’s projects begin to disintegrate into final clumps of submission…my innards yawn and stretch and struggle awake, expressing a yearning to search…spill forward instead of re-searching…explore and extend…
to construct and create without resources – to invent from the miscellaneous stockpiles of information and data accrued through intense weeks of devouring and ingesting…
This essay, from Maurice Blanchot, regarding Samuel Beckett – “Where Now? Who Now?” – captures that no-place of beginning – amid a chaos of signs and sensations – knowledge and ignorance – words and emotions concocted from immersion in information sources and recorded knowledge that constitutes “higher learning”…
please engage!
Polysemic Stupor 
It is a moth with lovely flutterings, hypnotised, enamoured, thinking its death a mirror, a winged dance of flame. The shadow of iridescence, a shadow of dust. It tastes like earth, bitter and sweet. It has taken up a song and is consumed therein. For this, do we praise, or blame?
Nice bit of writing ,though I feel often a sense of self-generating enfoldment of significances with such matter ( but then, I suppose, that too elucidates the nature of language and the mind)……