I drink
[and] I read poems
[and] I write letters
[and] attempt to acknowledge every feeling
Category: Writing
Reduce (‘to lead back, to bring back’)
https://www.etymonline.com/word/reduce
Thrum –
that is the hum of the liveliness
the phrasing which your voice emits
the charging of rememory
the shock that members monsters
–
Thrum spark! –
the difference between hearing
and listening-for, anticipation.
Or expectation? and its careful ache
awaiting every painful jolt
–
The fear involved –
an awful angst of joy –
timbre re-minding the body,
bodies, of things that surge
–
Like language –
what’s drawn out
and quartered
into inestimable more
–
So like-wise, the idiot
breath and ready veins
fill up with begging
bursted already in the mouths and hands
–
and far beyond.
Reach in, reach out
one motion as touch
the no-one-knows-where
–
Leading back,
bringing back,
reduce:
our introduction
Reduce (‘to lead back, to bring back’)
https://www.etymonline.com/word/reduce
Thrum -
that is the hum of the liveliness
the phrasing which your voice emits
the charging of rememory
the shock that members monsters
Thrum spark! –
the difference between hearing
and listening-for, anticipation.
Or expectation? and its careful ache
awaiting every painful jolt
The fear involved –
an awful angst of joy –
timbre re-minding the body,
bodies, of things that surge
Like language -
what’s drawn out
and quartered
into inestimable more
So like-wise, the idiot
breath and ready veins
fill up with begging
bursted already in the mouths and hands
and far beyond.
Reach in, reach out
one motion as touch
the no-one-knows-where
Leading back,
bringing back,
reduce:
our introduction
Something Scribbled
…something that/what happens…
Being something
This is how we see:
a set of brackets, dark,
moving across wires in the sky
(that we placed there)
because of the angle of light
and it’s changing
– perhaps –
and perhaps it’s the change
and the angling,
and perhaps it’s involved with the light
Self-reflection
It all seems like a coagulation of before now and ‘now’ you’ve been ‘given’ something to do something unknown with… an accident awaiting each happening… to be…
Writing
This is the path I take every day. I get lost. And name it “home.”
I am not a good father.
I am not a good son.
Nor…a good lover.
I do not know what it means to be a human.
I do not know if what I do is what is called ‘thinking.’
I assume (PRE-sume) I’m a-live.
This is what I do. Again and again and again… (ad infinitum)…
I try, errr, perhaps… I am.
She said.
I was working.
Things happen.
Perhaps.
Every day.
Tapping at Windows of Words
The bestial want
is it ever more?
Evermore.
.
Ache beauty
its terrible
hunger
.
The voyeur
at what is not
“mine.”
.
What can be taken?
What “had”?
In the seeking,
the peeping,
the glimpse
or the glance –
its desire?
.
Such beastly want,
evermore,
grasping
.
forth or out
I reach –
a solid pane.
.
I am limited
constrained
delimited –
.
it would seem
I see clearly
but it cannot be
touched.
.
‘I’ is alone
with-out.
With-in
comes from ‘you.’
.
So ‘I’ scopes –
a feral yearn –
and gazes…
.
tapping at windows
of words.
Autumn Reflections, their sound and fury
“Sometimes God, sometimes nothing”
-Franz Kafka –
“Blank page called a day.
God.”
– Dan Beachy-Quick –
The praxis of empty signifiers : words : full of sound and fury.
If you accept the ‘I’, or find a name to call yourself – like using a credit card received in the mail (illusion of invisible funds), what do you charge to it, and does it always end in debt?
Does it make of you a consumer to believe the ‘I’? To use self-reference as a token or coin?
How soon do “my” and “mine” follow after, even though each object, event, or transaction, is clearly only a loan?
What is charged to the ‘I’ must be paid back – to put it in legal or religious terms.
Be careful what you say.
Wittgenstein claimed that we mostly speak without giving full meaning to the terms we use – that we ought remain silent whereof we cannot speak with adequate comprehension. Where we sing beyond our knowing –
very few (if any) utterances comply.
But how learn anything (even the untrue) without not-knowing? Without composing walls to break apart or knock upon, to breach or to climb? Without making it up to unlearn and repent of?
A word changes direction.
It’s happening as I write or think or imagine this. As if.
As if it signified something. I write with sound and fury. Into silence.
It’s what ‘I’ do – so I should do it! (shouldn’t I?!)
I seem to know I’m alive by touching, tasting, smelling, hearing, seeing – things other… feeling, sensing, perceiving… crafting empty signifiers like nostrils, like a tongue, a kind of eyesight and ear, my fingertips. My flesh on loan. To be paid back.
In debt to what then? ‘World’? To sing. To sound. To dance a little. Imagine.
If ‘I’.
If I am given the sound of leaves as they crisp and color the Autumn breeze, refracturing light; if I can smell the moisting decay (debts repaid by undoing what was charged), if I can gather them with my hands and roil about them with my body, if I can bake the seeds and chew, take them in…
…what does ‘I’ owe?
You sentence me: two I’s. I hear your melodious song. You whisper, close.
I say ‘I love.’ Terms lacking comprehension. Metaphysics. Their meanings beyond knowing. Unlearned. “We” are (whereof we cannot speak).
Charging invisible funds we become responsible for. Obligated.
Swiping our cards for contents.
What do we owe?
What do we know?
What can we?
Each their own set limits. Sometimes raised, sometimes lowered, depending on our fidelity to pay with interest.
We owe. We all of us owe.
Even for our silence.
Even cash-only – that empty signifier – words. Even simply action. ‘I move’ – is a statement on credit, like breath.
Sweet burst of being! To “is.” To “I.” To “we.” All so heavily borrowed, contingently. Imagine.
Imagine what it means. To owe.
Again I break the silence of what I do not know via signs of repentance. These words.
All the silence they require.
All my Words are Silent 