A relief in the unreality. A kind of re-sign-ation and release…capitulation…to the impossible.
“how we find our way in the unknown by drawing on invisible maps of the invisible and by following…”
(Gunnar Olsson, Abysmal)
Sign-language. Gesturing. Ambivalent approximations.
At times unbearable. At times a satisfaction of “all we have” and the effort of maximizing it. At times re-solve (for x?). At times a re-linguishing abandonment: despair.
I study her, hair splitting and spreading, trailing inky-green over the vein-passages, delicately swollen, along the backs of her hands, superfluous and jewelry-like wrist-bones, concatenation and symphony of muscled, cartilage-limned lineations from thigh to knee-bend to calf, turning into sun-drenched marble of ankle, tendon, toes…painted, dusted, perfection…
The beauty will not hold to term. Will never be contained. It was impossible before it began. Eventuated, erupted, but was not “meant” or realized for any capture. It’s irreducible and indescribable, and I always already knew that – thus a torment, self-torture, a suicide term-inating – necessary failures I will elect to die trying: inconceivable, yet experienced; an incalculable worthless worth because unshared and uncommon. Just perception, experience, singular…impossible. Not factual. Incommunicable. HER.
To simply see (receive, perceive, conceive) – non-transferable, i.e. ‘unreal,’ unrepeatable, or ‘not the same’ as that. Untranslatable.
Yes, it starts to map. A conjecture of imaginary spaces, places, locations. Lines drawn wobbly and around, surround, what mystery? To dialogue and dream – hypothesize, surmise, polygraphy. I.e. to fail.
Ends in its begins, becoming something ‘else,’ as self might with each other – between showing new unknowns.
Not sure its believed in any more: “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
It goes on.
A trace, congesture, autography.