so language is an architecture for open?
–
they make their way to the mountain.
wait.
up there you make your way too,
waiting
.
i’m a man of too many words
but silent ones, written noise
i’m no good with others,
i always say too much
Category: Writing
“The Dream’s Navel”: an adaptation
Was a kindly algorithmic suggestion toward a remembering, almost a gift, perhaps… once I wrote this…
…yet another example of negotiating tools and context. The previous post it seemed natural, as if I reached into the surround in order to work …
“The Dream’s Navel”: an adaptation
November the 24th
Lydian
The summer
almost always,
so hard to endure –
warmth, light –
no solace
no protection –
only so much
undoing
is possible
in light…
heat
.
The autumn:
a young child
aging,
deteriorating,
dear demise,
desiccation,
something almost true
to fact
.
The spring –
its delusion,
deluge,
as if there were
a coming-to-be,
or fascist utopia –
with –
all the bells
and whistles
.
Our winter:
discontented,
and good –
solidity
of presence,
sweet ache
of living,
being,
held,
in place
.
I love.
Maundy Monday, or “No One’s Ways” – thoughts on Monday
Obviously shame and guilt AFFIRM us… as organisms that CARE
(at the least about ‘how we are perceived or incorporated’)
or, it tires me out to be around ‘people’ but ‘people’ are what we get
or, “Hello, Adam” (Thalia Field, Personhood)
or, “I” am constructed by/in/with a context
or, what do “I” (does I’s) know?
or… and so on…
What does “care” stand for? Or represent? “Mean”?
~ a fine form of self-determination-destruction
indenting “i”-dentities
Behold: “I” cares. “I” is ashamed and guilty. “I” loss, lose, be-wilder. (Can you?)
– Care as apparatus and negotiation. A “feeling-for” securing a sense. Places and times.
“Concern”?
How does this fit? Be-long? Where when how what.
And so on.
NOW.HERE. (always – for humans, etc…?=ETCETERA – or beyond outpast = ellipses).
Sing again. Breath. Sound.
“Care” as negotiation.
– somewhere somethings laughing
One Day
“One day I want to write,” I say to myself, every day. This is one of those days. And also what it is to write.
The Cosmos of Aziff / Polly C. McStupor
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
ON WRITING
Billy Osogo The Covid-19 pandemic has greatly changed life as we knew it heretofore. With severe restrictions on movement imposed by most governments…
ON WRITING
Polysemic Stupor 