Up with the Word(s)…continued (Pt. 7)

Part Seven:

Do we “know” what we’re talking about?

What can we (are we) know(ing) in words?

that we cannot know the essence of language (that we cannot escape language in order to view it cognitively) – know it according to the traditional concept of knowledge defined in terms of

cognition as representation – is not a defect, however, but rather an advantage through which

we are drawn forth in a distinctive realm, that realm where we, who are needed and used

to speak language, dwell as mortals.”

-Martin Heidegger-

the human engagement with language in usage engages us in our mortality; second, our relation

to language, our dwelling as mortals with(in) language, can only be thought from our

linguistic’ usage, that is, from the way we are used and engaged in usage for the speaking

of language…in other words, we must speak the relation in order to begin to think it.”

-Christopher Fynsk-

the ‘relation of relations’ (is now the relation in which language itself unfolds)

thereby our saying remains, as an answering, always relational”

-Martin Heidegger-

So what happens in our palatizing of the palette of language, our utilizing and being-used-by the fund of signs and gestures we appropriate toward communication? Do we “know” what we’re talking (writing, translating) with, through and about? If we can never quite adequate our signs to individual or universal experience, if we line and limn the threshold of entity/not-entity with this matter of language(s), ever seeking to approximate the “all” of our experience into available sounds and gestures that might be sensed and understood, but incompletely, what do we actually result with(in)?

Samuel Beckett has written that the conditions of our experiencing are the “ill-seen, ill-said,” ever striving for the “well-seen, well-said” that would stop it all, silence us, allow us to rest…completely…comprehensibly.

We are limited, finite. Our eyes perceiving always from their particular point of view, their stance in relation to the world, turning, deleting, comparing, choosing, focusing, blurring out, etc…millions of things in order to see anything at all – “ill-seen.” Our languages and vocabularies, grammars and knowledge and palates are also distinct and finite, our experience (no matter how broad or deep) an excruciatingly microscopic fraction of the happenings of the world – “ill-said.”

In seeking to express the happenings specific to us into a world specifically various and multiplicitous incalculably, we encounter an inconceivable expanse, breach, rift between our microcosm and the macrocosms of microcosms that might possibly acknowledge us, share or join with our experiences.

Given all that…for what might we hope? What content, substance, matters might be communicable? Might we “know” anything together? What is the nature of the signs?

Here, Heidegger, Fynsk, Bakhtin, Wittgenstein, Jakobsen, Halliday and their likes redirect us…joyously. They point out that what is being known in languaging are systems of relations – our very connectedness – interconnectedness – in fact, utter mutual dependence, absolute co-dependence with our world and others. In examining HOW language is used, what occurs in the actions of signing and saying, they help us see perhaps further than the apparently impossible struggle or lost battle of adequate communication.

Our own using of language(s) already immerses us in relatedness, whether it is “incommunicable,” “private” (questionable possibilities) systems of marks, movements or sounds, or efforts at comprehensive lucidity to the widest possible audience. To “make language” means as much to be “made by languages,” as an abstract painter whom we find it difficult to “understand” is still using materials and movements theoretically available to all.

In other words, in languaging, we are always already communicating –with even as we strive to communicate. There is always a prior relatedness before we seek to relate. Therefore, every ill-seen, ill-said attempt functions as both a pointing out of the enormous rift between each and all, and as the suturing that cleaves the gap.

Signs are relation, whether “successful” “comprehensible” or not. This is where, again, Derridean deconstructionist mythologizings of differance comes handily into play.

Along the vast scale of gradations of comprehensibility – each understanding, correlation, comprehension, or connection is only possible because it can be apprehended, shared, insofar as it is different, that is knowable, identifiable, recognizable, perceptible.

So whether speaking to ourselves (teasing out our worries, fears, feelings, hopes and so on) or shouting for someone to get out of the way – the miscommunications, disjunctions, incompletions, multipossibles of languaging forge us together via incomprehension.

“Ill seen, ill said” means necessary relatedness…that knowing, communicating, saying, thinking, feeling, doing at all, requires a world and others, a world of others, even to be conceivable, perceptible, possible.

Singing (even signing “poorly”) might be said to be the “relation of relations,” relations exemplar in the very rudimentary awareness that a sign does not exist except as a human utilizes it, nor a human identifiable apart from signs and gestures (even isolated, or “to-oneself”). No self occurs until we make a rift, invent a sign that might refer, imaginatively separate it enough to treat as something capable of being investigated or related to…like all things for the human.

What we “know” languaging…what is experienced languaging, then, is RELATION – an ill-seen ill-said asking and answering toward….

 

A center, aside

For those of you seeking inspiration, rest, delight…my wife Holly Suzanne has a beautiful show of art work going up this evening at Oeno Wine Bar in Wichita, KS…we will be hanging about there 6-9 PM.  Would love to see some of you!

To read…to save your lives…

nuggets…

if you squirrel them away and chitter at the meat…

your life can/will be different….

Eugenio Montale, The Poet in Our Time

Aleksandr Hemon ed., Best European Fiction 2012 (the preface by Nicole Krauss & intro by Hemon remind)

H.L. Hix, Spirits Hovering Over the Ashes

I urge…encourage…envision…plead…hope…wonder…

more (irrational?) fears…no fear

Why I Fear Secret Agents

 

More examples of my so-called “irrational” fears which motivate me in daily life to semi-debilitating anxiety, overall grumpiness and cynicism, and intermittent irritable melancholia:

 

– that humans will address me at places like the grocery store or post office

– that strangers will wave, gesture or ask something of me

– that conversation will consist of small talk or reportage, weather or politics, movies or television or the like

– that people will form lines

– that people will speak to my wife, not to discuss important subjects, but to be near her

– that I will be subjected to dismal vocabularies and poor grammar in checkout lanes

– that wealthy people exude entitlement

– that people are attracted to my wife and see fit to feed their attraction on her

– that drivers, pedestrians, etc., are not paying sufficient attention to their surround to avoid inconveniencing one another

– that I will be forced to wait on people rather than things

– that strangers will feign friendliness or personability

– that people are lonely

– that people will talk even when they don’t know what they’re talking about

– facile, banal, pretentious, crass, or just-to-fill-silence sounds or speech

– poor music at public places

– strangers that look at other people

– that people will look lustfully at my wife

– that mean, arrogant or afraid people will hurt my children

etc… etc…

 

These things come up because my wife’s line of work involves events and occasions that thrust us into the company of unknown persons. Also there are children’s school events, and the family’s penchants for going to public places – restaurants, stores, parks, etc. And then the unavoidable (in our situation) necessities of garner food, gas, books, medicines, etc.

Each go-round, dinner out, art opening, bowling adventure, doctor’s visit and the like spawn this grimaced panic and negativity/cynicism/paranoiac expecting-the-worst in me which truly annoys and bothers my wife, interfering with her own process of attempting to enjoy or at least “make the best of” apparently unavoidable situations that arise – in her opinion they offer possibilities as positive as they might be negative – and rely on, at least to some extent, our own outlook and will, agency and action, for resultant experience.

It is this “some extent” I would like to address.

But firstly – expecting the worst allows for a sense of relief and even gratitude when the occasions are not so grueling, involve no meddlesome characters or inane chatterboxes, process people smoothly and peaceably and so on. Given what I have observed, endured in life (including my own self), public appearance without some impingement of others is quite rare, so bracing oneself offers an opportunity to be surprised.

At first I thought perhaps I was neurotic, paranoid of the outside world to an abnormal degree, frightened unnecessarily by elements seemingly beyond my control (knowing that even my heartbeat and breathing feels only nominally up to me) – that I had an overdeveloped or trauma-induced phobia of the unknown, of change and such things implicit in our world.

But this is not the case. I love extremes and discoveries – fantastics in geography, weather, even cultures and climates. I delight in new music, literature, arts and aspects of the natural world. Even exotic or unexpected animals don’t frighten me too much. No, it is only ever circumstances in which there is the possibility of encountering humans (unknown, or sometimes even positively known) at a personal level that wig the bejeezus out of me and deliver me psychophysiologically to panics, dis-ease and serious discomfort.

The only natural element I fear similarly is the prospect of my own death or suffering and cessation of my loved ones.

 

So what I fear, really, is the company or vicinity of unknown beings with agency. The “some extent” my own strength, choice and abilities amount to in a room- or theater- or store- or park-ful of human persons feels/seems/appears tremendously miniscule to me: if we all count as ONE entity of volition and instinct in any given setting – my personal power of self-protection always amounts to an extremely small fraction (1/200 – grocery store?, 1/400 – zoo?, 1/300 – library?, 1/infinity on a walk or bicycle ride?, 1/100 at an art opening or museum, 1/20th at a café and so on)

Bad odds for safekeeping.

Any one of those “others” speaking, looking, acting offensively, invasively, accostingly, uncouthly, disrespectfully, outgoingly, personably and so forth (according to my own standards which I have no right to project onto another, but which are similar to the “Golden Rule” – mine being “I’ll pretend you do not exist if you’ll pretend I do not exist” or “I’ll stay out of your space/sound/business – you stay out of mine”, tending to necessary transactions only – which rarely require speech or contact in these days of automation – thank you technology!) levels the limits of my “personal agency” by half. Add another person and I’m at 33% power and so on, incrementally I am laid into the arbitrary hands, minds, eyes, mouths and minds of insurmountable odds the moment I step out of my door.

Hence I have affinity for places like caves and Montana, Wyoming, Kansas’ Great Plains, my house – any places population statistics give 1:25 miles or more. And travel is usually okay – tend to be moving too quickly to be personally accosted, possibly imposed, or at least there is the available motion – to move away.

I don’t trust humans. Judging from myself and those closest to me – we are veritable paradoxes of mixed wants, feelings, perspectives and desires, concatenations of all manner of possibilities with very little apparent say in the matter or manner of our instincts and cross-purposing wills.

I.e. my fears seem reasonable enough. And have gotten me halfway through my life relatively healthy and calm. I’ll stay on guard, avoid what I can, and try to survive another forty years of relative disquiet.

 

N Filbert 2012

 

and Part Six….palatable

Part the Sixth: A Palette of Words on Your Palate

Your lips and tongue and oral cavity, in the manner of your fingerprints, pronounce consonants and vowels like no other body. In most cases this is noticeable only to machines and highly trained specialists, but physiologically speaking, your speech has a distinct personality, in the manner of what some would call your psyche or soul.

Your make-up is distinctive, by-and-large very similar to every other human being. This is one of the reasons you are able to understand others – recognize humans, their gestures, expressions, actions and sounds. They partake in voluminous similarities to your own. Still, a far cry from “identically.”

In fact, from one day to the next, even one hour, you yourself are not identical to yourself, body or otherwise. So how do we keep track of who’s who, where, when, etc? We use signs and labels for things and concepts…symbols that can stand for things and adjust to things while they change and flow.

 

The socio-linguistic faction of semioticians view human consciousness, personality, individuality something like this:

Your physiological composition and arrangement, however similar it may be to other human beings, is still unique. Individuality refers to this aspect: indeed, you are a discreet example/entity of the species.

This plays a very important part in your acquisition or formation/development of personhood. As the other entities immersed in the systems (polysystemic – gender, race, nationality, education, economics, etc.) incorporate you into these systems by means (primarily, or most directly) of more overlapping systems of signs and gestures, your individualized entity adapts these uniquely – fitting yourself into the systems, learning to use existent systems (ideologies) in your particular, but enmeshed way.

This interplay of inner distinctiveness and outer systems of interrelated elements = your flexible and evolving personality.

You are granted, accorded a place in the systems – counted as a person, even as you adapt and acquire roles and behaviors in the systems you engage – becoming a “person.”

The chicken and the egg are synchronic. You can’t have one without the other.

Languages are those threading elements you affect and alter even as they effect and shape you. “Psyche,” “personality” does not exist separately from these systems. In other words, you could not recognize yourself, think, have awareness, in a void or in total isolation (even “isolation” as a word doesn’t make any sense without “others” or “else” to be enabled by – isolated from). You are you by virtue of your physiological uniqueness and capacities immersed in systems of anythings not-you.

Sign-systems, languages, general as they may be, are the medium whereby your personality (formed with those systems) and all that you are not, encounter and engage, take shape, “become” in what we call a “conscious” matter.

Crux? Your palate and brain, organs and anatomy are things (particular objects), your interrelational existence (roles, personality, style, etc.) are not, that is, not extractable realities, but are however you ideology (idea-words) the flow of your individuality and everything else or other-passing-by at all moments.

Fluid, flexible, and always, we chicken-and-egg-and-chicken our “selves” and the “world” linguistically.

Languages our floating, loaded systems of communication (self-to-self, self-to-other, other-to-self) we select from and individualize with each application, while keeping us immersed and enmeshed with itself and its social and organic forming and flow. Palate-to-palette-to-palate it goes…

Your palate, aswim in the world-palette, dabbles in and mixes the palette, further coloring and staining your palate, and so on…or so my palette palatates it…

 

one is necessary, one is a piece of fatefulness,

one belongs to the whole, one is in the whole”

-Friedrich Nietzsche-

Language and personality partake of both nature and nurture

and are the expression of both”

-J.R. Firth-

Ongoing Reflections

The Mighty Rio Grande

 

I’ve had death on my mind lately. My death in particular. How dearly I dread it! How vehemently I don’t want living to cease, no matter what it brings or doesn’t. How I still smoke like something already burned out and useless, just smoldering here.

Last week I even put together a soundtrack for my passing. A collection of what my wife calls “ambient post-rock” musics – guitar laden swoons and murmurs with occasional peaks of magnitude and power but overall repetitive thrumming drives. Steady, soothing, gradual.

It scares me to think of it, my body wrestling against death’s dark-clawing clutches, like spasming farm-fowl jerking to rip tears in the black-out cloth. I imagine breath-taking pain, searing irrationality and panic, what oxygen in the body must cause when one is drowning. Not wanting to go down. To call it quits. To stop.

Most consider my anxieties irrational self-torments. That I stimulate and tickle them by obsession, where in fact there is no real immediate threat. I know no other way, it seems obvious and razor-sharp to me that death is eternally ubiquitous to those of us who live. Some, I’m sure, see in my grave fears an unsettled “soul,” a human ill-at-ease or dis-eased with the divine or reality or Earth Mother-Nature-All life-cycle nuances and so on, burdened with sin or guilt, impatience, desire or incompletion.

I won’t apologize or repent of it, I simply crave the going-on of “you’ll-never-know-what-will-turn-up” that living seems to me. The “indestructible possibles” in the words of Samuel Beckett (that master of going on in the bleak) in the mouth of Alain Badiou.

Be that as it may, my family’s query as to my persistence in self-destructive habits and spirals (Freud’s “death drive”?) carry their valid weight and aplomb and must be answered: I give these to my reasonable oneness with Nature physiologically, irrespective of rationale – the “balance of truth” as it were, physical/mental acquiescence to the facts.

Afterlife certainly doesn’t assuage – I’m not wanting “other” “better” or overall “change,” just to go on in a minimal state of comfort with highs and lows interspersed. Movement – it’s different enough every day.

Driving the children to school, the drama of my CD playing in the background, me hoping it might subconsciously provoke in them an atmosphere of nostalgia and hope, dream and determination, some synchrony of reflection and will to power, once the charges were dropped off I let the final tune play itself out to the puffs of a cigarette.

Ironically, the band’s moniker is “This Will Destroy You” – on a brisk hazily sunlit river road of trees and cloudless sky morning – it’s a given: these children, this love, the losses, the agonies and beauty will, indeed, be the very “this” that “will destroy” me. Every moment counts that way. The song was “The Mighty Rio Grande,” with which my most recent previous overwhelm had occurred headphone’d in a jetliner staring out the window at a receding Mexican countryside of scrub trees, poverty and violent self-sustenance.

Today as I received what would destroy me, throbbing my cranium and vibrating my belly, I glimpsed an acceptable translation of my death.

As the music grew from its insistent quiet repetition, one step at a time, toward a dropping and swelling tumultuous tremor, I believed if the succumbing fight could be transposed like these sounds, I could bear it.

The Winter trees stark with skeletal blooms thrusting up, up, out and over, I thought – this could be okay – if the excruciating pain writhed out like white enormous wings tearing out of my chest in violent struggle, then spreading into flight like umbrellas of muscling clouds…tormented joints and hobbled thighs pushing through into tenacious trunks and grasping talons of branches like a howling chorus…fierce caws of crafty crows eating their shrieks out of my throat, pecking their freedom of my skull…an explosive fire of sheer determination, perseverance rather than a smothering suffocate oppression…that might feel an adequate conclusion.

Something giving in by giving out. Jacob wrestling angels. Trees and rivers attacked by and become great storms…Okay.

When the time comes, if it floods the Mighty Rio Grande.

N Filbert 2012

(click on title to hear wondrous song)

Word(s) Up : Part Five

Part 5: “Full of you’ll never know what will turn up”

I take it for granted that every one of us is all of the time making. Making dreams and reality, sense and sensation, monologue/dialogue/multilogue, doubts and knowledge, perception and experience. To live is to make a living, blood cells and amino acids, proteins and carbon dioxide, hormones and synapses.

We live and we say so. Whether fundamentally by motion and the occupation of space, or humanly by gestures and communications. Ever refining our capacities, both biologically and technically, we attempt, invent, create and construct our way along. Language, in its many forms is a principal way we make and are made.

Living or anything-ing implies movement implies change implies flexibility. Language is no exception to this implied principle. Malleability and flexibility – RELATIVITY – is at the core of living and living language. This is why I prefer talking of human activities and behaviors in active tenses…languaging, marrying, being, loving, and the like – is is what it is as it is is-ing.

RELATIVITY is a helpful idea-term for another powerful reason. It implies RELATION. Relations between all things as they are (are-ing). We skein language into the midst of this as a stretchable porous border, like air molecules or water, identifying and allowing difference and movement at all moments.

This is a splendour, a method and means, matter and medium by which we relate, flexibly, comprehensibly – to ourselves, to one another, to world.

Is it?

Because all that’s alive is making and moving, all is “full of you’ll never know what will turn up.” Language not only assigns the full, the you, the what and turning up, but is itself “full of you’ll never know what will turn up,” a relational medium and a matter we’re in relation with!

Pushing a bus while you’re driving it.

Stammer, stutter, flow, overflow.

It marks, misses the mark and overshoots the mark all at once.

This is why ontological thinkers like philosophers and poets believe language is wedded to human being as to be inseparable. Like our physiognomy, it’s a being we cannot investigate or relate to without it. We’re unable to separate from being to examine being. Unable to assess language without using language and being used thereby.

Shrug.

So those of us entranced by such apparently impossible conundrums do it anyway. Scientists and priests, philosophers and fantasiers – we anatomize ourselves and feign beyonds; microscopic particles and telescopic generalities,

it becomes a form of very sophisticated childs-play, a gravely serious and frivolous game, not unlike going on living which is the same thing as dying.

Granted – it’s fantastic – and impossible – what drives us? See – you never know what will turn up – and any direction you head (as a human) will be paved with language while you’re laying its bricks.

Astonishing! Astounding!

Helpless! Hopeless!

Like living toward death?

It’s what we do. Let’s call it “keeping up with relativity,” or “languaging” or living,

any one will do

A quotey-quote

“Once philosophy was stories, religion was stories, wisdom books were stories, but now that fiction is held to be a form of lying, even by literary sophisticates, we are without persuasive wisdom, religion or philosophy”

Ronald Sukenick

“Everything happens and everything that happens is part of the story and everything that everyone thinks about what happens is part of the story…and isn’t it interesting how in stories everything comes together but to continue…

Wording on…Part 4

Part 4: At the Threshold

Which brings us to:

the look in the eye/I.

Tell me you don’t know this:

you flood – you are filled up with an exceedingly distinct comprehension, you are “in it,” “getting it,” for now, let’s say this is a “profound sensation.”

simultaneously (usually) you are experiencing what seems to be an all-over, thorough-going “impression” (or impressions), this all meeting in what we are calling “profound sensation,”

inner and outer; incoming outgoing; expression impression, these are overwhelming and gravitate to interpretation and communication, expression and recording or description, in signs or series of signs and gestures.

Might be through sound or gesticulation, a color shaped, an action or behavior…these interfusions come out / in all the time, it is what it is to be living, it makes us who and what we are, the world and ourselves, to the world and to ourselves.

 

Words are the signs that conceivably might carry the largest amounts of this sensation…could they be found, or adequately arranged. It would incarnate this experience – give it body and form and objective factual existence among I and not-I.

Animals shriek, bark, run, tussle, shiver, bite, rise up, lay low, paint, scratch, gesture and so forth…but human animals have this additional matter – concept-conveyors and description-declaimers – able to stand in solidly, as beings, for gestures, sounds, colors, actions, emotions, events, and so on…separately. Words.

Outside rushing in and through, inside processing around and out, the threshold filled with signs like skin…thoughts, perceptions, emotions, sensations, commands, refusals, representations, questions…apparently everything that can happen in this mutual conditioning of person and world can be lexically signed.

The threshold double-passageways of terms.

Promising…exciting….intelligible….and yet?

Would you not agree that the moments the word-beings actually seem identical to the enmeshed flow are extremely rare?

You see her, or have seen her so long, you gaze, smell, listen, observe. You touch her, you are touched by, you taste her, this intimate between…you must convince her, exclaim to her what goes on in this…

you stammer or embellish, metaphor or moan, sing, laugh, cliché…

but it does not come out “right.” The arguments are unjust to the message intended. The emotions pour out through the sieve of the letters as you say them…uncontained, unconveyed, “at a loss.”

Or you read Heidegger or Pessoa, Blanchot or Lorca, you are moved and all the lights come out as in Spring, the sense of their words courses through you like brandy…you call your friend, you begin to sputter, attempting translation, your words sound foreign, unconvincing, unclear and inane…it is impossible to paraphrase – “unintelligible and untranslatable but not incomprehensible” after all, you “got it,” you’re suffused with “it” – the comprehension, reciprocation, “profound sensation” of the mutual conditioning of self and words/world…isn’t this what words are for? And yet…

This is the threshold of creative language. For speaker/writer “new layers of reality and insight have opened up” – language is required to factualize, birth this presence…but all the language you know seems unable…

Which brings us to:

the look in the eye/I

Tell me you don’t know this…

N Filbert 2012

reflections, remarks…word-press – Feb 18, 2012

listening to “in the stream” by S. Carey)

those rarities, Kansas expressing itself moistly, greyly, gently, 45 degrees

swinging on porch, watching children fill up papers with marks, pictures, “pictographs,” symbols, words and letters

watching wife seek “just the right terms” (le mot juste) to represent her vision and beliefs regarding human possibilities and health for a webpage for her therapeutic practice

reading Merwin, Laura (Riding) Jackson, Charles Bernstein, Colson Whitehead, Jerome Klinkowitz in stolen moments throughout the day in order to continue a pondering, a willingness, an open stance toward the world and the persons populating it with perspectives and politics

wondering nostalgically, tenderly, familiarly through the mental stacks – spines like Dostoevsky and Sterne, Balzac and Bakhtin, Kafka, Pessoa, Jabes, Cixous, on, on, on…

how very many words have pressed through, been impressed and imprinted…how much has pressed through words…

a cursory glance at wordpress stats today – hundreds of thousands of blogs of signs upon signs upon signs of human upon human    upon human, pressing words out, in – words pressing them…

Beckett and Blanchot’s concept of exigency, that we have a meaningless compulsion to say, resonates…

Laura and Schuyler Jackson’s magnum opus (“Rational Meaning”), a lifetime of work, situated on two lifetimes ponderings of human engagement with language, that, indeed there must be meaning to it for the human and out terms…resonates

that we go on saying… and on… saying… and on… saying… and on…

seems particularly potent and precious to me today

Thank you to everyone pressing and being pressed by – word(s)!!