My dear friend @ Jean Lee’s World (https://jeanleesworld.com/) resurfaced this to me from more than 5 years forgotten… I don’t suspect I could say it any better today… thank you any/all who engage my lettered objects.
Woven in the circles of making, I felt and I thought, I wrote (I thought) “What is called writing?”
An action, a process, a braiding of becoming.
In that way it is like breathing, sensing, walking.
I wouldn’t, for instance, “do it anyway” – wasn’t born with the instinct of muscle and nerve to be verbal, textual. I needed other people for that, and the whole history of the world, and the tiny stories of my community and location. All those things, all those “others” – elements and entities NOT me trained me to language. Taught me to “mean’ something with a sound or a gesture, out of an enormity of possible sounds and motions, infinite and miniscule in their variety. So that I utter and behave as a Kansas boy raised in the 1970s in the United States of America; I can say “what” about…
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