(alas, the notebooks keep filling…but the time to type does not avail)
If I. If something stirred, was stirring. The dying. Any of us. Were something stirring. For me. If I. The lonely. Any of us. The longing. The longing lonely. Were something stirring. Were I. If I.
If only. Could be any. If one. If only. If I. For me. An other. Any of us. A stirring. I, only dying lonely longing one. If. A stirring. An other. Someone to speak “we.” To say “you.” A whispered “us.” For me.
What would I (if I, if other) say, if something stirred, if stirring an other, some other who, who might say “you,” “we,” whisper “us,” something stirring then, what would I say. If I. If you or we, I whisper “us,” stirring still, what would I say?
When might a story begin? Who could start the unknown? Only language. Perhaps only language knows what can’t be said. What is yet to exist. Or may not. Ever. What is that to me? If I. If indeed that is what I do.
Touching other to make us. If I. If other. Then a voice, a touch, an extra, an excess, we. If you. If I. What is story to that? How so?
From anywhere: impermanence. If an other. If I. Some story’s beginning, how begun. If there were a sound, as it were, so to speak.
5 thoughts on “Playing Writing: a Repetition”
Very fine. Like words from a previous universe. Like the drips off a winter leaf. Lke a hearbeat echoing.
I loved this – beautifully written. Enjoyed the music you included too.
Thank you very much, it’s very kind
I loved too, dear N Filbert. Every word has a deep voyage in my mind/heart, I can feel what you expressed there… Ths was great once again. Thank you, Love, nia
Thank YOU Nia…