Category: Current Reading
What I’m buried in this week or this moment
An aside, centered
constancy in compelling
tellings synonymous with what I envision
recommended, terrifically
2 Sources
Breathlessly discovering these treasure troves of inspiration and encouragement (and great thinking!):
M/E/A/N/I/N/G (particularly examine the essay by Lucio Pozzi – 12 Questions of Art – amazing!)
“Art, to me, is nothing but a testimony of a flow where order and disorder are interchangeable
and where the darkness of inspiration and desire fulfill unknown purposes within the appearance of space and time”
-Lucio Pozzi-
I, for Instances of Assembled Appendices
“Unable to say ‘I’ in either past or future. Yesterday’s face, almost unrecognizable. Tomorrow’s face, barely thinkable.”
-Edmond Jabes –
“One evening, pulling photographs from his youth out of a drawer, he quoted a dialogue between a child and his grandmother, who was showing him a picture of a very pretty woman:
“Granny, who is this lady?”
“Why, it’s me, darling, when I was young.”
“And who is it now?”
“And he said to me: ‘You see, in this Who is it now? lies the riddle of a life.'”
-Edmond Jabes-
The Nothingness of Personality
Immediate Blog
“Between the unattainable intention of the author and the arguable intention of the reader, there is the transparent intention of the text, which refutes untenable interpretations.”
-Umberto Eco-
For Communal Delight
If you enjoy, wish to, revel in, feel ecstasy toward, crave and are intoxicated by
the glories of language
I fervently recommend
for your enjoyment!
Living Traces – Paul Valery
“In the strange faculty of doing certain things irrelevant to life with as much care, passion and persistence as if one’s life depended on them…there we find what is called ‘living.'”
-Paul Valery-
I, for Instants: the writer question
I the Question; I the Answer That Does Not Satisfy
“I am both wound and knife”
“Time is a river that sweeps me along, but I am the river;
it is a tiger that mangles me, but I am the tiger;
it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire.”
“The question inaugurates a type of relation characterized by openness and free movment; and what it must be satisfied with closes and arrests it. The question awaits an answer, but the answer does not appease the question, and even if it puts an end to the question, it does not put an end to the waiting that is the question of the question.”
“all things oscillate round me, and I with them, an uncertainty unto myself.
All for me is incoherence and change. All is mystery and all is meaning…”
I am the writer. Am I also what is written?
Both wound and knife.
I am the husband? What the husband does.
I am their father. Am I also their fathering?
I am the writer. Not the writer I believe I am, want to be, imagine. Am I the writer? What is written does not appease, does not satisfy. I am waiting, asking, waiting in openness for possibility. I am the answering I do not desire.
Am I what is written? Partial answers. Fragments pieced together forming questions. I wait. Am I the one who waits? While writing?
I love. Do I love? I answer by loving. I am dissatisfied by my loving – it is not what I had hoped, was waiting toward, believed possible. I am not the lover I asked for.
I feel I am the open, the possibility – the questioning. My answering closes, arrests, delimits me. I am neither satisfied nor appeased.
I am the human. Am I human? If I answer for that I am dissatisfied, given the question, the possible replies.
I write I am the writer, the one writing, this phrase of the question. Its answer never satisfies, leaves me waiting, asking again, anew. The questions.
“the anarchist keeps watch within us and opposes our resignations”
E.M. Cioran
All my Words are Silent 