-Christopher Fynsk-
-Renate Lachmann-
-Mikhail Bakhtin-
-Dan Beachy-Quick-
Wanted to plug a new Youtube channel I’m following…
-please click image for textual content-
βNietzsche is the most sarcastic son of a bitch ever to set foot on this
earth. Just say that; then write whatever else you want, like he would.β β
β So my friend Werner Timmermann tells me, with a gleam in his eye.
He helped with my translation of Thus Spake Zarathustra, a four-year-long
labor of love, so he knows what he is talking about. Zarathustra (1885)
was Nietzscheβs magnum opus; everything before it was preparation,
everything after it expatiation and elucidation.
But, for some, the question remains: Why Nietzsche? Friedrich
Nietzsche (1844-1900) was quite simply one of the most original and
influential philosophers who ever lived; in addition, his writing style was
brilliant, epigrammatic, idiosyncratic [βIt is my ambition to say in ten
sentences what everyone else says in a book β what everyone else does
not say in a book.β] The language dances, prances, whirls and twirls; it
ranges from ghetto-verbalizations and vulgarizations to high art, from
lyricism to sardonicism, from satyr-play to passion play. No one really
writes like Nietzsche, though the number of his stylistic apes and
imitators is legion (especially in the ranks of academe).
-from the introduction 2004 translation ofΒ Ecce Homo &Β The Antichrist
sympatico-ally discovered via Time’s Flow StemmedΒ (take a look!)
I just have to share this article from my current research work – it so cogently contains the sort of theory I desire to work on and within…
related again
The body as a field where many battles rage. Β Strife of ideal fathering, strafed with spousal passion and demands.Β The infantries advance – toward occupational worth – stealth sweeping the rewards.Β Childhood plans of freedom and grandeur – the risk and adventure – hits from guerilla flanks.Β The will to heroic power and injured survival.Β Biology of age.Β Maproom of surrender and negotiating borders.Β Where the surge will be.Β Today.Β Rigorous advance of death.Β Waging to forge something like a home, a country, an interdependent territory.Β All of it leaving its marks.
It is time to sit down and write.Β Time, as measured by flame.
It has to be burning.
N Filbert 2013
βTen times a day you must overcome yourself.Β You must want to burn yourself up in your own flame.β
-Friedrich Nietzsche-
βthe lesson is clear: one is multiple, the same is different, the representation is the negative of the personβ¦both original and copy, identical and different, they are the same and the other, interchangeable and monumentalβ¦In the dark room of his studio, Warhol develops himself.Β In so doing he βunmakesβ himself.β
-Victor Stoichita-
βDeath follows artists around like their shadow and I think thatβs one of the reasons artists are so conscious of the vulnerability and nothingness of life.β
-Francis Bacon-
Children singing choruses.Β Joyous chants and rhymes.Β Distant.Β Repetition forming memory.
Chasing shadows, or running from.Β Self-same body blocking sun.Β To be sought, to be feared.Β Identical and strange.
Known alone in traces and reflections.
I say that βIβ was young once.Β That itβs only patterns of light, only the passing of time, only angles of vision.
I repeat myself.
Each day reassembling, developing, dissembling, to reassemble again.Β My body a gathering post.
Mirroring image has gone from the closest thing to self-awareness we might uncover to a flat reflective surface full of nothing.Β Ephemeral and changing by the second, dependent on the looker, a vacant mirage.
Shadow has proceeded from a designator of real presences to an outline of actual vacuity.Β From a measurable symbol of substance to a vague hint of objects passing.
Voices like a bag of small bells and grass.Β Something shaking and stirred.Β Snippets of a tune, the catchy parts.
What I can tell I read, observe, attend and consider, opening a dialogue of days.Β But I only get to see in glimpses and portions.Β A hand moving, holding an instrument here; flat feet from crossed legs there; a shoulder, some hair of a beard, the frames of glasses.Β I donβt see myself seeing, nor see myself as seen.
Thereβs the mirror and the shadow β intangible, eminently interpretable and malleable βthingsβ β emphases of the transitory.Β Receptacles like language β merely signs or indices β pointing back at absence.
Moment, moment, momentβ¦now then now then nowβ¦endless fantasies of dissection moving round the room, faster than shuttling clips of film.Β A self presenting / representing itself after again, appearances only, shimmering skein mingling veils of lightβ¦
While they sing like breezes dreaming β βWho sees?β and βWhat is seen?β
He who has ears let him hear,
bypassing illusion,
in marks and gestures
Nothing is the force / that renovates the world.
-Emily Dickinson-
Please read the following conversation between poets Christine Hume and Rosmarie Waldrop (pp.76-88, click on image for text)
Waldrop has always been a heroine of mine, and I’ve been struggling again with “Who am I?” “What do I do?” “How am I?” – questions of identity and difference that come up in times where we are suffused in roles – students, parents, spouses, artists, employees, gendered, and so on…In insular places where I feel safe I am able to theoretically conjure a kind of flow, that these aren’t choices but movements, that things and actions do not exist, only ‘occasions”, “relations,” but under stress I quickly find myself wishing I knew who/what/where/when/how I am. Β Today I received this book through inter-library loan, and kept opening to the Waldrop chapter… apparently for good reason. Β I share many of her points of view, and would like to share them with whomever finds themselves interested.
I think of the ‘between’ more in terms of both, and of extending the gray zone between the black/white in the direction of multivalence. ‘The yes and no in everything.’
-Rosmarie Waldrop-
The Inevitable
Β
What do we mean when we say βthat ______ looks so German!β
To write.Β It.
That unnerving pronoun β the impossibility nothing is.
And probable.
The work of understanding.Β While standing under rain.Β The gravity of melancholy.
Resulting in a study of colors.Β As related to moods.
Desired solitude.Β Desiring.Β An oxymoron.Β (To solitude).
What would you desire in solitude?Β (While playing with yourself).
The βwithβ would be the problem.
Ever positing an other.
βwe must each retain (and be granted) our uniqueness, even as we retain our relevance β
which is to say our interrelatednessβ
-Lyn Hejinian-
In other words it is possible that we yearn for uniqueness and relevance, both requiring something else.
However might one be uniquely alone?Β And still recognize red?
Or relevance?Β (in solitude)?
The antimony that meaning is.
Meaning, nothing.Β Large terms stripped of their content.Β Yet undone.
If, then.Β If infinity, then an eternity of incompletion.
Is that what you wanted?
Like desiring wholeness.Β Oxymoron.
Living is logically incompatible.
Inevitably.
Upon viewing the sketch like a mirror.Β Its frenzy.Β Its worry.Β An uncertain field of marks.
Energy moves.
Impossible object, in other words.Β The world never calmer than an excited child with a squirming pup, in front of a camera.Β Using your eyes as camera is moving in barely calculable jitters.Β Each second.
How we view the world.Β Ourselves.Β Skittering fragments, objectless, composing subjective states, the subject of which, well, frankly, is subjectless, being, as it is, subjective.
A field, a spray, a flickering shower.Β Drowning in waves.Β Particles and fragments, all strung together without points of contact.
Inevitable delay.Β Perception.Β Duller senses.
Process requiring instants = moments = past.
Hardship of irony.Β What one pays for attention.Β Tolls of false awareness.Β Delayed.Β A logical impossibility.Β I.e. βpresenceβ (presently).
Lucky for suffixes as arbitrary denotations.Β Arbitrarying.
Their simultaneity (e.g. βed, -ing, -β β).
You might say we βlocked eyesβ (past tense signifying long enough to catch up to the present experience thereby missing out on the initial wonder).
Processed cheese is not the same.
Fortunately every synapse of the factory also makes up now (as it makes it up) making up experience in order to.Β Experience.
Some animals delight in chasing their tales (that was a genuine error there, though the audience following Moses following Discontent following Freud).Β Tails, then.Β Or heads.Β Each swallowing another.
You know what I mean.Β Swatting at air.
Meaning, well, nothing = something (and vacuous nevertheless).Β Than?
Equals ever updating profile passed, passing, will pass, NOW.
Itβs inevitable.
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
"That's the big what happened."
Networking the complexity community since 1999
All my Words are Silent 