and an extra from the new release…
the last 4 minutes are so beautiful
and an extra from the new release…
the last 4 minutes are so beautiful
I love drawing from the world – almost anything, almost everything – ingesting, sensing, feeling, digesting (transforming, processing) into me to pass it on again.
I love the encounter of humans – frightening, fragile things – the desire and revulsion our fullness brings.
Hope. Dread.
I hope to be loved and wanted.
I dread the opposite.
As if it were about me.
As if there were a thousand suns
And we were one of them
Time doesn’t work that way.
It’s been called an arrow
but it’s likely not –
likely wrinkled, warped and bent –
just like us
giving life to it.
Love is like this.
Like our memories.
I remember clearly what is incorrect –
if anything’s erected so.
I doubt it,
along with me and you and everything else…
just enough to believe.
What “prompts” us?
A pain. A joy. Surprise. Loss, meaning, something that crashes, crushes, alerts or in some way causes blurts or blasts to our system that create cross-connections – surge energy / electricity / pulsings between links and channels that otherwise run their own course. Unexpected. Expected. SIGNIFICANCE.
I am intrigued by what “catches” us, “moves” us, CHANGES us. As many times askance as head on. What gathers and whispers behind us. What we are confronted with. Explosive, erosive, evolutional. You could call them “shocks to the system.” Sometimes cumulative, sometimes immediate. But they effect change, and attention. Design, and process.
I’m thinking of them as prompts.
There are a few works of literature and art, throughout my life, that ALWAYS “prompt” me. A few authors. A few painters, sculptors, musicians. I do not know why this is, but it is so – some voices, some styles, some appearances and sounds unfailingly “move” me, by which I mean continuously change my orientation to the world. Often subtly, sometimes radically, but surely.
Macedonio Fernandez is one such creator.
His writings NEVER FAIL to alter me.
I could query my analytics to find how many times I have quoted him, referenced his “first good novel”
and today I am passing the PROMPT that this novel is – and IS contained in it – on to you… from Fernandez himself – I have lived with it, considered it, dreamt of it… a prompt he left us that haunts and inspires me… an ultimate sort of prompting….
for Friday Fictioneers – January 31, 2014

He heads to the room in the attic. This is where it happens, where it all occurs. Everything needed is there, at the ready. A factory for making. The tools and materials – this is where the work gets done. Such a tiny place – 53 cm of circular feedback. Yet somehow within it expands. Almost limitlessly, it seems. Whatever is needed appears, is created, invented – “on the spot” manufacturing “just in time.” Manufabulating. Manuscripting. You can almost make out all the details – electricity, wiring, elaborate connections – the inside, the outside, and back – and yet how it gets done is quite hazy.
two poems by Wallace Stevens – evincing the reader, the text, the poem, the world – poetry’s situation – realities…
In searching through the files on my computer for particular photos, I have been running across many files of which the names are unrecognizable to me, many dating from months and moons ago. Some of them startle me, some are encouraging, all provide record of where I’ve been, how I’m thinking, what’s at work in me at various given moments. I thought I’d share a few that seem worthy of being shared, they will arrive under the tag “Spillage” – detritus left to the side when my focus is on projects. Here’s a sample, found labelled: Action:Writing. (simply click on title link to view)
Empathy: A Way, but not My Way
O.E.D. – Empathy / einfuhlung
Feeling out, feeling into, projecting one’s experience in order to absorb the experience of another. “In and out of one another’s bodies” (Maurice Bloch), “intersubjectivity” (Daniel Stern).
Notebooks full of conjuring, I’ve dreamt and striven to elucidate or embody, to caress and coerce language to convey or carry-like-a-message the interpersonal convergence, experiential agreement we might be signifying with the syntax and semantics of empathy.
There were moments, instants, it seemed evident, nearly obvious – as when a child ran itself across a brittle late-summer yard, lodging a prickled sticker in the pad of its heel, and hearing its friend following close behind, sensing its similar fate…a kind of “predictive apprehension” become co-mprehension as experience is multiplied, at least observably shared – at least sympathy – a feeling-with, if not –out; and –into.
Two humans losing their loved ones, or spouses enduring the same tragedy?
Experience-learning applied to replicated or duplicated occasions. Similar, perhaps, sympathic.
But “fully comprehending” journeys beyond this.
Apparently, empathy happens when one extends emotion beyond the individual body and absorbs, joins, or feels-into another – a verge of meeting, movement,
beyond into between, meshing as a sunset goes about forming itself, or the creation of fog – something like con-gene-ial requirements. Some of us, hell, all of us (and more) share genes, so this must be possible (we have a word for it after all!).
Our forms, our reach, must be flexible. We share-with, finally, down to our atoms out through our environment, galaxy, and beyond.
EXTENDED – EMBODIED – EMBEDDED
-components of empathy-
…a coordination of coordinations of actions…
(Humberto Maturana / Francisco Varela)
Perhaps empathy, a possibility of intersubjectivity, occurs when subjects extend awareness through a mutual orientation into a consensual domain…each feeling-out the other by feeling-into a shared sensual arena, learned by experience and therefore anticipated predictively…in rare occasions of empathy…simultaneously!?
In other words, based out of our shared genetic realities, generated by the kinds of experiences and “worlds” our species can have, we feel-out of our heartbreak, grief, joy, ecstasy, fear – emotive and sensual experiences – into con-sensual co-ordinated domains of those experiences occurring in some liminal, marginal space verging each; similarly to the way a coastline clearly separates and thoroughly connects sea and land, while both continue going on underneath one another.
Perhaps. But I was not seeking to describe, explain, or indicate empathy in language, my desire was to enact it, evoke it…and in that I have failed…ever to try again.

It mingles as I tarry here. Fence and branches joining what they distinguish. From here to there I yearn. Details all so near. In my reaching they grow hazy. I long for you. I follow. I wander. Toward you? From me? Out beyond?
There was a time. It’s lost its focus. Forward, back, I cannot tell. I am here. A something-is divides us. Even as it joins. I reach across. I feel you back. And yet.
Yet not. The moony sun illuminates. Draws attention. Drawing all the lines connecting us, all the angles between.
**********************
Many thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and Erin Leary‘s image
for the continuous and faithful prompts to compose 100 words
responding to instigating images and the Friday Fictioneers participants
Student Magazine of IISER Mohali
Music, Musicology, and related Matters
a photographic pilgrimage to Orthodox Christian monasteries across the continent
Meandering Through a Literary Life
Orthodox Christianity, Culture and Religion, Making the Journey of Faith
Erik Kwakkel blogging about medieval manuscripts
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