I close one eye as a hint or signal. Almost-gesture of complicity, alliance. Miniscule nod of knowingness. Nearly clandestine. We are accomplice.
Subtlety. In the colors of sunsets are moments. Light in trees, precipitation, breeze and wind. Occasions, occurrences. A brush, a jolt, a catch, or slip. Just there, just then, just whom.
Sum of an enormous fund of letters, sounds, marks, and inferences composing a confused and compossible khora of language actuated haphazardly in discourse, and conversation, a dated letter, an exclamation or response… one might say the signsea winks or glimmers. A squinch or sparkle of potential affinities and conflicts, affiliations and consorts. Then gone. A breath. A…
Glance. A glimpse shuttered quickly, asymmetrically. What does it mean? Something. Something of nothing. Like accident, collision, like misreckoning, mistake. Like harmony, accord, or intercourse.
“in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, as a trumpet sound… the dead shall be raised, and we shall be changed”…(I Cor 15:52, changed).
Picture, if you can, if you will, a spill of sonority, funneled through lung, through throat, whirling the mouth cavity, battened by teeth, and leaving the lips as a word… now whispering air as smoky exhalation… mingling and woven in the voice of another… such breaths, these terms, these inscriptions… how they collide and collude, coalesce and caress, commingle and pass on…
Moments, instants, mishaps or miracles…and all shall be changed…or so it is written, supposed, and declared…
In my efforts to ground and attend to my experience and express it with honesty (see Opening the Hand) I have developed a map of locations – realms of the process that have risen as prominent regions within the difficulty, effort, grief, growth and procession of engaging dramatic change… You can view it here: Locations on the Map of Meaning.
To view the text for each mode, simply hover over the nodes title, click or press the + button or the down arrows beneath each location title to see full content. Some nodes lead to further nodes or you can use the buttons along the bottom of the screen. Repeating my former disclaimer…
“All of this is to say that I plan a series of posts that will be intensely personal, self-revelant, my own way of reaching toward my experience, my being, and selecting language with which to mark it down – for re-memory, re-cognition, observation, reception, attention, account. These are journal entries, frankly. They are what I have to write. I am calling them “Mapping the Meaning.” Since I know very few of you personally, in your whole presence, I expect confession, inquiry, and its self-circular expression to genuinely interest or benefit very few of you. For me, it is writing with an open hand.”
The years of blogging, developing manoftheword/The Whole Hurly Burly have been life-changing. Blogging has enabled me to learn to share my work, to discover what resonates in my work with whom and what sorts of interests. Blogging has given me courage, most definitely helped me discover my voice, and linked me to an amazing community of creators and thinkers. In that way it has given me hope.
I appreciate everyone who has visited (or will visit) these pages, who has taken the time to interact, comment, critique, challenge and question my process, my content, my style.
It has been a significant mode of expression in which I have felt that I mattered, have been heard, seen, can contribute something to a large and complex world.
I am unsure of my intentions with a caesura, apart from feeling profoundly that the time and energy I put toward this is needed in other areas of my life right now. The Whole Hurly Burly of life has its ways and effects.
As in brief breaks before (beginning grad school again, starting a business with spouse, children home for summer and the like) – should something worthy come forth I will share it, but for a time will be unable to consistently interact in this medium.
It has been a great pleasure – both “followers” (I hope not!) and those I “follow” – to become acquainted with your works, your gifts and talents, your ideas and artefacts – and truly – to have been offered a context that feels safe for experimencting mine. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU.
I cannot predict the time I will need for this restructuring, but I can assure you this experience and network and relation has been profound and meaningful in my life.
People seem to blog for very many reasons. For all who follow or glance at The Daily Post blog with its tips and hints and prompts it is clear that some use these community-spaces for singular aspects of their lives (say to showcase or try out their poetry or paintings, photography or thoughts); others to engage in philosophical dialogues or take culture’s pulse; other’s as a form of public journaling, travel albums and so on. And then there are those that swirl round a broad flux of themes and forms, artefacts and issues. A versatile blog can be hard to come by, as, unless fueled by a collaborating group, most blogs sprout from individual minds and lives. Yet we are socially-constructed beings. A species made up out of context and interrelation. Versatility is inherent in our adapting and survival. All that to say that I am honored to have been chosen by maxadaland blog to receive the:
Much thanks. Sometimes I think we can feel pretty vorticed in our own imaginations…the paradigms and preformulating grids our experience passes through can start seeming quite idiosyncratic and even incommunicable. Like a catch in an audio file, skipping and repeating such small fragments of possibility – like solipsistic feedback loops – and one can wonder whether interaction / intersubjectivity / reciprocation / communication is happening or not. If we are hearing, being heard.
One thing I greatly appreciate for my life about having taken the leap of tending to and creating a blog is the daily (or almost) wander through the “Reader” feature of WordPress. Artists, writers, commentators, philosophers, dramatists and encyclopedic representations of images, texts and audio from all around the world, out of every imaginable cognitive perspective drift past us, triggering synapses and volting neurons in places forgotten or buzzing dormant throughout our bodies. It presents the wonderful possibility of contrast and integration, stimulae to creation and juxtapositions fundamental to our growth as organisms. I thank you all for that.
Below, please find a few blogs I follow that in themselves seem to offer worlds of variety – of voices, of inputs and outputs, of interests and concerns – blogs I find that continuously spur new connections, unknown avenues, concepts or artefacts I otherwise would have perhaps never engaged. Thank you to all – and it is taken for granted that we all know this worldwideweb is full of such spaces, ever only incorrect finger-splotches away.
“Express only that which cannot be expressed. Leave it unexpressed.”
“The world eternally turns round; all things therein are incessantly moving, the earth, the rocks of Caucasus, and the pyramids of Egypt, both by the public motion and their own. Even constancy itself is no other but a slower and more languishing motion. I cannot fix my object; ‘tis always tottering and reeling by a natural giddiness; I take it as it is at the instant I consider it; I do not paint its being, I paint its passage.”
-Michel de Montaigne, 1580-
“Sincerity – it’s the insatiable process
of transition, of fluctuation…”
I began one place, and become another.
Wallace remarked that the most difficult thing to teach young writers was the difference between expressive writing and communicative writing.
“Two utterances cling tightly to each other, like two bodies but having indistinct boundaries.” (Maurice Blanchot)
A notification informs me that today is the first anniversary of my experience of the blogosphere.
Humbled over 365 days.
And thank you.
I imagine many writers/artists start out, in the youth of their writing (or creative work) from a singular sense. There’s this “me” experiencing this “world,” it seems like – an I and a chaos, an identity and a multitude. When the I (or eye) feels full, it is like to burst. Things touch us, hurt us, impinge on our locus, our “self,” and it seems something must be done about it – we must exert – strike back, reach out, kiss, craft – exhibit our presence. Interact. The dualities are clear.
Are confused. Experience turns out to be very mixed, an impossibly confusing weave. As we begin to plunder these “moments,” we’re countered. Things that happened to us, we were there for, in all fairness, our activities encroach.
We begin perhaps to recognize our existence as agents – not only done to, but doing; not only recipients but respondants, reactive. The wrestle of expressing ourselves through materials (language, movement, matter or sound) teaches us this. The Other’s inextricably woven – what occurs and results is the same. Is unlike. We lose balance.
Conceiving the work as a subject toward object (our creating) deriving from object to subject (our experiences) – our investigations quickly expose this unclear. Attacked by requirements of how. Stubborn like marble or tricky as oils, even recalcitrant conventions, we begin to comprehend a falsity to working on, as a single direction, and realize it’s all a working with. And we struggle.
Even working with. The earth, or people, or bodies, or clay, things rarely abide our intentions. We set out to disburden ourselves, get incited to construct or create (to “use”) and find ourselves consistently foiled. Reality doesn’t care. We find precious little room for expression. Compromise and nuance, novelty or style – ineffective to the longings we exude.
Perhaps at this stage we lose faith in our voices or visions – what we seek we does not seem to obtain. This is fine. This is something no product can resolve. For there isn’t. There is no solution to life. We are IN it. And there is no replacement for death. Then we’re OUT.
Whether language or matter, movement or sound, our “I” never works on an Other. We are INsulated. INextricably. Communicative activity means cohabiting the spaces, simultaneous-ing the times. Realities – experiences – accord. Everything possessing the prefix co-. It’s admitting the reciprocal, the recursive – we’re not separate beings being, we are beings expressing ourselves commensurately. Perhaps control is adjusting to convention. Accepting agreements with place. Expression living IN and WITH, communication the word for the weave. That we’re behaving, creating, co-mposing in inseparable connectivity (inexpressible process) – transition, fluctuation, IN –
Dear Readers, in searching for something on my own site today, I noticed that by changing my theme to a “cleaner” “fresher” looking theme, I lost the ability to nest pages within pages. Which led to an eruption of pages at the heading, which looks awfully conflated and complicated and distracting to me.
Bear with me as I engage disentangling…or find a new theme…or, most likely, return to the one that was working so well.
Seasons change beckoned…alas.
Thanks always, each, for visiting. I’ll try to make it more pleasant, soon.
I’ve been sort of swirling in a kind of malconfident funk of late…performing exercises and blatherings just to keep the language flowing…today felt like a threshold…one of those – “if the flow don’t show – i’m constipated” sorts of things… many of my favorite bloggers have been moving toward a very free and open bursting of expression/language/image this summer and it’s really been fueling me, but i haven’t been able to open my own valves for some reason. I want to say – wow – there are a bunch of really talented creative persons making stuff on WordPress – and the virtual company means more than I think (I think). So thanks to all of you for working so hard to MAKE and BECOME – it’s inspiring – believe me…and whether you knew it or not – today you all conspired to inject or confront me with the Archaic Torso of Apollo – a magnificent accomplishment – and Rilke’s “you must revise your life” – a fine firm foot to me arse…
Things have got to change. It’s not working. You’re not working (but of course you are, (I am) which isn’t what I meant, what I mean being of very little effect).
There are the readings…
Plus all over the world (that is telling you nothing) there are people traveling and taking photographs – but those show, they don’t tell.
A friend did email to say ‘don’t give up’ from a far different location on the earth, but perhaps the “earth” is not the “world,” perhaps world is an elsewhere? Or simply a voice I cannot hear, something divine.
I keep calling myself “you” as if that might make me other, but even I know you can’t escape yourself.
I spent my day designing characters. Jim could never lie because he didn’t believe in language (or was it people?). Leonhardt could always tell the difference but is unable to comprehend the same. An author left an erotic drawing on his desk upon his death, causing great anxiety for his biographer, utterly incapable of fitting it into his knowledge of said subject.
Those aren’t me. So something needs to change, you tell yourself. You’re lost in language, but the labyrinth is becoming a pattern.
There’s a trove of “prompts” out there to help you find your way (is that the “world”?) but inspiration keeps feeling artificial.
You challenged yourself this past year to ‘get personal’, if you wrote real near what hurts others might hurt too, and people like that – empathy, identity, a pingback from the world – but it never became interesting, the personal, you kept sounding like yourself.
And wrote these letters you called journals, out of some idea (I guess) that a world might be within you that could tell you what you need. Or like Laurie Sheck said (she’s really in the world); that “skin has no choice but to converse with the world” – but does yours listen?
I guess what I am saying is that today brought clouds and wind (a welcome change) and those were world, and I heard something.