Homo Fictus

“words are not a translation of something else that was there before they were” -Ludwig Wittgenstein- Homo Fictus  “Even when the body goes to sleep,…

Homo Fictus

Intriguing… I forget almost everything I write, thank you any others for finding it and letting me read it again.

Components


And then there were two
yet before that no one

but components
an organism of many
replete with fissures and gaps
traversed by muscle, nerve, synapse


(I often argue with words:
“two shall become one”)


It does not add up
and a unity has yet to be found
even in a singular
air is both inside and out
and language is still formed


And we tend to argue in words
with muscle, larynx, breath and tone
never terms alone
it’s cellular


if there ever was just one
it is unknown now
or how


our world is constitutive
it’s miracle
that it holds together at all


(It is argued with words:
“One is the loneliest number”)


But thankfully(?)
we’ll never experience that
even our grief and solitude
comes at the cost of others


left to one
undone
and silenced to pieces


And then there were none

Will Self on What to Read: Canons to the Left, Canons to the Right, and Everything in Between

Even if—as per my last essay for Lit Hub—we know how to read, there remains the equally vexed question of what we should read. If the 21st century is…

Will Self on What to Read: Canons to the Left, Canons to the Right, and Everything in Between

“I is Another” (or pronouns as shifters; after Jon Fosse)

Like the first,

the every new

dependent of change;

agent of again,

now this

.

the starting

that continues

into while

.

its struck

and tumbled

and keeps rumbling

a murmured name

.

an other, again,

an I, again,

iota, (the smallest mark),

now this

Promptings

Now we scrape away the hair.

this is the act of remembering;

new growth.

Next we explore the beauty –

of women, of plants, of men,

and other things;

of rocks, of beasts, and everything.

This is called rejoicing –

often emitting in sighs, and songs,

and pain –

And so we slice our flesh –

joining the inside with out

through searing and drowning,

the fluids, the ashes –

This is how we mourn.

.

And morning still comes,

the seeds, sperm, germs,

and dawn all continue

their leakage and drift,

And thus we are released –

like tears,

like dust,

And something absorbs

it all:

the hair, the blood,

the love, the screams,

the differences and repetitions

of traumas and loss

such awesome gains

each beauty its’ evening,

And so we reach –

receiving