We conferred, that is, we engage, experiencing contact.
We will set out, clinging, and submerge in, together. To gather, to keep hold. To track and trace in the tracing of trackings. To recognize with(-ness). To witness with-ness. As experiment – critical. Experience, anyway. “Ours.”
Between the quark and the jaguar, we leap in, already moving. Enduring much criticism: stop-motion behavior/practice. A snipping tool. We move on.
Must have been moving before we begin, different organization, as also (ever “also,” both/and) until “we” is spoken, still speaking. In other words.
If complexity allows purpose, however shallowly combined – moment-airy radiant gradient – if selection involved “choice” (in other words), so we. So-viet. Co-Be=”It.”
We continue beginning potentials. Experience. Anyway, any way at all, even those unimagined per se – potentially – given contexts (complexes before and beyond) to speak spatially (corrupted language: co-ruptured, erupting-together). “Always more than one,” our simple mantra. Breathe. Walk.
Early ones (to speak temporally, parler temporellement, another language) tout “the world knows not boundary.” Perceptual divisor, arbitrary (i.e. species-specific) and then some. Or boundary as invented in traversal, trespass, complex thoroughfare, reciprocity. Feed-forward in a sort of randomness, chaos emerging orders.
We blend thus to cognize. We merge to pattern difference. Another way of saying “no boundary” (i.e. engagement, interactivity, living, being). To couple.
Beginning again in infinite multiplicity (our limited numeracy) – were we able to count even to we.
In our realm, Summer busies – schedules, rituals and rhythms deconstruct and a verve of freedom and compulsion arises in our children. And there are vacations and visitors and spontaneous events. The weather withers me, people are drawn to the outside, in all – Summer discomforts me.
And yet…this week expect the visits of my wife’s twin, her aunt, and a long-time friend and his family, AND we’ll celebrate these dear twins birthday with wild national hoopla (July 4 – precious to me because she entered the world, but I’m happy to have help in the celebrating at this level!).
What gathers and whispers…or shouts and plays…runs and claps…talks and snuggles…HOME…those precious to us, invaluable, incalculable,
Yesterday eve we were enjoying a particularly (abnormal) gentle, cool Kansas Summer eve on our porch and listening to the music of Keith Kenniff – placed here as a celebration of Summer’s affordances – dislocated time, gatherings, visitations and travels – favorites – family, friends, nests…
How it left my mouth, toward her. How long I’d ached and labored it. How meticulously prepared. From amorphous origins – a preoccupation and urge, a hunch, desire. Like longing + some desperate attention. Had I shared this constant process, they’d have named it “obsession.” A phrase, a statement, a promise, a claim. How it left my mouth when the moment arrived, arrowing itself toward her. A chiseled and hair-thin fibre of sound, a core-content-chain of DNA, let free in the matter between us. How it blurred and whooshed past. Disintegrative and smeared in possible meanings. How quickly the resulting compound decomposed and deconstructed.
I personally attempt to read every writing I am able to obtain by my favorites. Some of my blog entries may therefore be redundant, as redundancy is a way that I am able to sense patterns and make connections and thereby forge what I experience as meaning. The following is one of the summary writings (nah, that’s not quite right – even with redundancies and retellings I rarely find a summary-type writing by my favorites – there’s always difference – and that is what snags me!)… Okay, for your interaction, pleasure, and engagement, without further ado…
You, in your bluish hue – nostalgic and hopeful – ever inhabiting a kind of aether, neither here nor there, but possible – like heavens, like waters – deep, open, beyond. A different form of presence, not with, but altogether. Perhaps. Whereas I, in fleshy, earthbound, soiling tones – dressed to catch the eye – hang myself into the world of shapes and edges, angles and points – risking extravagant extension rather than mirroring sea and sky. Butting bodies – yours forgiving and surrounding, just shy of the resistance for friction – mine stolid and secure, and flagging its pronouncement.
We may enter unaware or gingerly, with good and caring intentions. We might have plans to rush right through – eyes cinched, hands clenched, heart throbbing – with risk and fear in angry justice or righteous defense. We often stumble in. We get tripped up. It is possible we are shoved. Sometimes we charge.
However we get there – within all that dark and churning – disorientation accompanies our arrival. This temporal funnel – a passage where noise wins the day, interference scrambles messages, things fall apart and the center will not hold – renders us untethered, at loose ends – the chaos tube.
Occasionally we may notice our derailment as our words and thoughts cease mating, time travel whisks us to and fro ‘twixt past and present and some unknown yet desperately predictable future, full of echoey recalls, details smeared and marred, yet panic and terror renowned. Feelings turn to Emotion – symbolic, iconic, religious. We find ourselves grasping, delirious, snatching at this phrase and that, yowling or yelling, whimpering and weeping or delivering laws, lecturing truth.
Caught in the Argument Tunnel. There’s a beginning and end, but they’re tricky, elusive and vague, and no matter. Socially constructed – this moving event, experimental device – of a limiting duration. At what point is haywire? Do body and mind turn ape shit? Humanity parenthetically undone? What triggers, pressure, stress compress an organism toward self-destruction – deconstructive discombobulating dislocation? Unhinged and multi-piloted, the divagations of entropy?
Wind tunnel, spin cycle, a sequencing coming apart at the seams, gyrating out of control, baffled and frazzled by fuzzy and unsolving sets – irrotational vortices of turbulent flow.
Spitting us unknown and misrepresented out the other side. Episodic psychoses, neuroses, and unity. Draining extremes, pushed through the wringer, all flushed and muddied – it’s blood and guts, a birth canal, an orifice, survival.
“You and I exchange lines of dialogue. Each line is a trap, a misuse, and each misuse is justified by some standard upon which we have previously agreed, if tacitly. Thereby appears the nature of meaning. It is a force that hazards to subjugate other forces, other meanings, other languages. We understand this all too well and yet, and yet – well, it is like the infirmity, the defect at the base of a dam. It will hold and it will hold and then it will give up, the dam will give up. As do we all…
“Believe what you like. Or, better, believe what you believe; it’s always easier, if you ask me. You would have me imagine that in some cases language really is just a simple transmission of rather functional, if not banal, messages between speakers. Not only is that not true, but it is necessarily untrue, even in the most functional of exchanges, say between two firemen or a pilot and her navigator or a surgeon and his operating-room nurse and here between you and me as you attend to me, where I use she and where I use he and even why I might have put she before he, or did not phrase the question as he following she.”
Wobbling within our habitation – wandering and confused, almost wondering why, but still composing, constructing, rearranging and conceiving it again in different light at different angles in differing times from different points of view, almost like a structure or a form foaming out of content like both sides of a two-way mirror – what we’ve made of what we’re made of – making tremendous spackled multi-entried exits and shifting permeable boundaries – you push, I push, we pull – it changes – look again and reconsider, same as considering anew or forever beginning while still it’s taking shape, working it over even when we’re not working – not really – detail upon detail after detail ever only under one single purpose – to be functional.
“In a complex relationship with the environment, very similar substances with the same chemical structure can become quite different in their reality and form”
-Michael Gazzaniga-
“On the evolutionary tree, we humans are sitting at the tip of our lonely branch…We have the same roots as all living organisms. All those similarities are there. Our cellular processes depend upon the same biology, and we are subject to the same properties of physics and chemistry. We are all carbon-based creatures. Yet ever species is unique, and we are too. Every species has answered the problem of survival with a different solution, filling a different niche…Homo sapiens entered a cognitive niche…
…in one sentence Garrison Keillor captures humanness…such a simple sentiment, yet so full of human complexity…
BE WELL. DO GOOD WORK. KEEP IN TOUCH.“
-Michael Gazzaniga-
Another strong recommendation from me for those interested in the what’s and how’s and some where’s and when’s of being a particular we.
I’ve been working over things in my sleep. Parenting issues, marriage. Vocation deadlines, assignments. Logistics and payments and scheduling. Improbable care of the self.
– that overwhelm is inevitable, inherent.
Everything we know (or surmise) about anything indicates vast beyonds unknown and ignored. In order to see, to breathe, to speak, to hear, to feel, to think, to live. We filter and avoid. Press the vast majority of the world’s availability into a void. So of course we can’t manage our world, or comprehend, even minimally control. We can barely deal with even a relatively microscopic set of variables, and those only enough to survive.
Reminded, awake then, that overwhelm is constant and inevitable. Inherent to the systems of which we are and are a part. Living is processing vastness. Essentially unscalable. And we thought bacteria were small!
So it comes as no surprise that at times we feel oppressed, drowned, immersed – helpless, confused and at loss. Pretend for a moment that we have to-dos that seem important + unforeseen and substantial grief + illness + snow days (which = a house full of ecstatic children, active and noisy and eager to be entertained) + inclement weather shuffling schedules and doctors, activities and possibilities around + limitations of time, energy and internal resources + anxiety or mood ‘disorders’ + love and high hopes + responsibilities and intentions + fears and deep hurts + a body (bodies) mind (minds) to feed and nourish +…
Too Much Information, a saturated context for the human organism. The black box crashes. The connections run slow. The screen jerky and fuzzy. Head aches, breath thickens or shallows, noise is incommensurate – the signals scramble…
At first breach, first sign of imperturb…we check in, acknowledge – perhaps argue or fight or make love (i.e. signify our overwhelm and our intensity), sit still, register what we can…
and wake up, reminded:
WE MAKE ART.
Once ground is touched, we go in (or out) – “seventh direction perception” – we begin to consciously process/perceive.
The query that sprouted is as follows: might the activity of art-a creative dialogic relation of index-sign-symbol, signifier-signifiant-and interpreter, i.e. “becoming-forth” – expand our perceptive capacities/processing?
In other words, in enacting the relationship of making, creatively, holistically, might we draw on more of the world’s availability – perceived and “dismissed” – a fuller context of experience less limited by intentional activities of categorical aims and constraints, thereby opening more of us to more of it in an open reciprocal dynamic interrelation, thereby sort of processing in “lump sums” – a gulping digestion of overwhelm?
We set aside prescribed roles, beliefs and opinions and work out, work into, an arbitrary generalized conventional (safe) medium…we fog our normalized paradigms and strictures of interpretive alertness – mores, values, expectations and censorship – we reach out gathering in. Interact. It seems something larger is carried, is moved – more than the medium, more than ourselves, more of a context, a world.
Does art extend our perceptive capacities? Our scope of perception – to process, to be? A kind of open-boundaried passage of experiencing between organism and world?