I want to know how everything we do (as the human kind of organisms) functions for us, including wanting to know how wanting to know how everything we do (as the human kind of organisms) functions for us, including wanting to know how wanting to know how wanting to know how everything we do (as the human kind of organisms) functions for us, including…
The urgency, that is, the urging I feel in setting forth to compose, is dismantling.
In other words, the forcings that encroach, impinge and unleash within me when I’m ‘of a mind’ (experiencing the intention of) ‘to create’ is one of destruction, a defensive attack.
I am thus synonymed by sculptor, woodcarver, archaeologist.
One wants to undo the stories before they reach the page.
In order to find, discover, the figure of them, a more lasting (perhaps) form or shape.
To strip them of their ‘qualities’ or ‘style.’ Their manipulations. Creation as a straining of the weak, the falsifiable…a process in survival of the fittest, the more “true”(?) or apt.
Chiseling personal explanations and perspectival descriptions down to possibilities. Unraveling myths toward oracles. Discounting proofs into theories.
The impetus of writing evokes the motivation of doubt, the landscape is struggle.
“To be inspired” might mean to be activated by an experience accurately called “perfink” (David Krech), or, “perceiving, feeling and thinking at once” (Jerome Bruner).
Regurgitant feeling: investigation, analysis, interpretation – meanings attacking meanings, in hopes. In hopes that a perfink of “meaning” (a satiation of anxiety, terror, doubt) might prove indestructible – as a possibility.
The narrative, then (the verbal expression of a perfink), is a traffic jam of conventions, presuppositions, reality-views and solipsistic Gnosticism forged within the forging self; writing – as apparatus, activity, function – reflexes: brings self-world to bear on self-worlds in attempts to deconstruct automatic (as it were) constructions of perceiving/feeling/thinking – fighting, clawing, tearing against it with the information and energy of shared resources: language, “knowledge,” the usable past.
Clashings of systems, perfinking perfinks, violent internal skirmishes and acts of terror(ism) – a doing that attempts the undoings of doings – an otherwise endlessly insular, of unverifiable and infinite traces, activity known as self-reflexive –
– producing stalemates of exhaustion, individual paucities of supply and reinforcement, ourobourosian –
offering only extrinsic chances for momentary cease-fires – the artifact, figure, form of the battlefield, photographed in process and thus submitted – to critics, to readers, to colleagues, to shadows (i.e. to genuine Others) that it might become real (exist in relation, to be directly experienced), corroborated or dismissed by equally limited and idiosyncratic perfinking, outside – both in the world, and of it.
“the contest any artist has with his or her art: working toward a perception that is his or her mind’s peace.”
“the mind carries an austere
inwardness that will not put out its eyes”
“Writing is a lonely business’ is both a dull myth and a material fact of the profession, one I happen to be temperamentally suited to endure but which doesn’t gratify my sense of what it’s for.”
Where we began, and when, was next-to-nothing. How must have been something, and the what bears repeating. Complex and variegated channels, ganglia alike to beans taking root, nutty and filigreed.
The event is conception and all its pertinent involve (where-when-events) – resultant growth of hairy little what-hows.
What is a theme-and-variations composition, melodies often scarce to trace, but certainly music! Thrumming drumming subtle, with irregulating tremors, shushing swinging bellowed strings, replete with punctuations. A human is a riffing thing, something of artist’s collage coupling biological systems and common laws relatively, referred to as patterns.
Person is an unstaid element, living requiring stimulation and acknowledgements, enough continuity to be. Elaborate contexts of nurturing structures and their vice-versas. Cells swimming fluids, objects in umwelts, mini-beasts scuttling a globe, as seen from various distances (perspectives not visibly limited).
Existences like screens full of mimeographed transparencies layered and colored by hands. Bewildering tangles of syrup and string. Odd combos when mirrored by mirrors, as mirroring means. Two-sided at least. Reflected subjectivities / subjective reflections, sort of spinning things set on a gyro turning tilting.
Nurturing structures of what-hows commons: language, culture, environment and arts. Structuring nurture of sustaining nourishment, awareness (attention) and semblance of security.
And there you have a person (a what-how) and a world (where-when-event); synonymously person-making-world, er, world-making-person toggling looping recursive spirals adjusting discontinuous connectivities…
Perhaps each and overall what-how’s where-when-events all beggar why (i.e. remain puzzling) at which point (or somesuch of the like) there probably arises a who. Who and why as yet unknown, being conjectured derivatives only from how-what in where-when-events.
All demanding further potentially endless inquiry and study and inventive erasures of conventional grammars and parts of speech.
What do we mean when we say “that ______ looks so German!”
To write. It.
That unnerving pronoun – the impossibility nothing is.
The work of understanding. While standing under rain. The gravity of melancholy.
Resulting in a study of colors. As related to moods.
Desired solitude. Desiring. An oxymoron. (To solitude).
What would you desire in solitude? (While playing with yourself).
The “with” would be the problem.
Ever positing an other.
“we must each retain (and be granted) our uniqueness, even as we retain our relevance –
which is to say our interrelatedness”
In other words it is possible that we yearn for uniqueness and relevance, both requiring something else.
However might one be uniquely alone? And still recognize red?
Or relevance? (in solitude)?
The antimony that meaning is.
Meaning, nothing. Large terms stripped of their content. Yet undone.
If, then. If infinity, then an eternity of incompletion.
Is that what you wanted?
Like desiring wholeness. Oxymoron.
Living is logically incompatible.
Upon viewing the sketch like a mirror. Its frenzy. Its worry. An uncertain field of marks.
Impossible object, in other words. The world never calmer than an excited child with a squirming pup, in front of a camera. Using your eyes as camera is moving in barely calculable jitters. Each second.
How we view the world. Ourselves. 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. Drowning in waves. Particles and fragments, all strung together without points of contact.
Inevitable delay. Perception. Duller senses.
Process requiring instants = moments = past.
Hardship of irony. What one pays for attention. Tolls of false awareness. Delayed. A logical impossibility. I.e. “presence” (presently).
Lucky for suffixes as arbitrary denotations. Arbitrarying.
Their simultaneity (e.g. –ed, -ing, -“ “).
You might say we “locked eyes” (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. Experience.
Some animals delight in chasing their tales (that was a genuine error there, though the audience following Moses following Discontent following Freud). Tails, then. Or heads. Each swallowing another.