Thickets

Thicket

The world overgrown.  At least any accessible sector.  I’ve heard tale of open, of empty, of spacious, of dearth.  Not where I approach.  Even my own body – its in- or out-sides, its wherewithal.  Always where-with-all.

Tangled, almost briny, in some instances.  If able to determine a surround wherewith or whenwith to take a stance in.  Even thinking, even breath, even a pulse of bloodbeat.  Any sound we form toward music.  Any making-sensible.  For us.  Our kind.  Those within the overgrown – the untamable, reckless warp and weft.

To hunch there, immediately becomes here.  How different – if imagined?  To gather, to pre-tend.  To suppose a disposition, a presence somehow differentiated.  How-some?  To curl in, therefore (perchance? per theory?) “to find,” to be able to, to call, to be-in-g?  Yet how?  Or why?  Where is the for?  And what might the hole be suspected to fill?

Where is the gap between this and the other?  Between you and me, he or she, this-that-the-other, between…any/thing?  Something wishes to know, apparently… and this wishing/motion/decision/desire/activity/drive (whatever “  “) begins by implicating violence… bi-lining a world with borders, invented barriers, perceived traces, intuited splits, cuts and hacks that are not there until.  How un-till this supposed “soil” from which to distinguish, fabricate, or function?  From which to “operate.”  Surgeon-species.

What knowledge is expected by destroying?  Deconstructing (or constructing) – both requiring joints?  By suture and slice?  By taking life?  Prone to decompose.  What a trajectory.

What options?  Compelled…to con-fuse…confess…to communicate, express, enjoy, enjoin (what we find ourselves joined to) still even to de-scribe, in-scribe, in-voke, ex-tol, inter-act or en-gage provokes difference, demands separations, dismemberment.  To cleave.

To try to body.  To try to mind.  Attend.  Acknowledge.  Distortion.  To twist and torture an other, as the one or…alteration.  De-pict.

Impossible connection already seems to be.  Each, every add-ition a disconnecting, a cutting, a stitching seam according to a pattern.  Whose?  Whats?

Over, under, whelmed.  Where is the open, the undifferentiated, the is?  Always already be-fore.  All ways, all ready, be-for.  In other words…not possibly worded.  Prior to word.  Involving act (including language) but unincorporated (already corporal), defying design-ation (surprisingly? one would think ‘it’ [not] is at the end of de- or un-signing/signifying), erasure of description, all palimpsests equaling… perhaps (per-happening) – infinite, certainly uncountable, incalculable, without ordination, order, ordaining, without with-in or –out.  Only WITH, inconceivable, imperceptible (perception cuts), irretrievable (the rejection of any re-), disabused, disturbed perturb, a dreaming dreamed turbulence = a happen to be.

Still this thinks with.  Language.  Lost already, displaced and falsified by a tiny thread, an whole fabric, a world-veil at least whilst continuing as world…

Think again.  Dream.  Confuse.  Imagine.  Invent.  Art ducts (vents) for breath… further re-moves, com-pli-cations, furthering within, for fun?  A dance, a play, a re-morse (cryptic codification, surreptitious and additional) some native complicity to immeasurable complexity.  As is.  As if.  And so on…

Antic Ontology

kockelman

But I do know something of being alive as a human being.

44 years of living.  Sometimes awake, sometimes sleeping.

Often bruised in/with activity.  “Alive” nonetheless, operative.

>

And that is that: there always seems to be a “you.”

An othering.  For humans.  Nature, world, self.

I-you=we.

And that is that.  Buber perhaps, correct: Being is relation,

(or vice-versa?) for anything (anyone – could we ever get down to that)

exists, stands-forth/out, becomes, in so far…insofar as – “it relates.”

>

The gist= A we.  Wonder.  More-than is constitutive.

We are, and are made of/from/with more than what we “are.”

Being/beings (something needs troubled here) Here.

>

If I characterized…TODAY = noise & speed.

“What calls for thinking?”  “What calls thinking?”  “What is called thinking?”

Slowness.  Quiet.  Almost silence.  In praise of.  Praise?

To?  For? What?

Relation.  A we.  Equals.

And then…more than…= “become.”

>

Behold.  Arrive.  Appear.  A we.

>

Reticence.

>

Hallie.  Tristan.  Aidan.  Ida.  Oliver.

World – air, plants, animals, motion…

how else do I know?  How else do I know that I am?

>

only

in relation to

with

relation

>

RE(lation)ALITY.

Identities taking form…such brief individuations

Instigating a “family-tree” of sorts betwixt what I will call thinkers of relational ontology, I am providing another text to explore – this one from Erin Manning – the introduction from her book Relationscapes: Movement, Art, Philosophy. 

You can see the heritage (or ontogeny) is vast – to trace it more completely investigate The Four Ages of Understanding by John DeelyA Thousand Plateaus  by Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, or The Primacy of Semiosis by Paul Bains (among others).  Bakhtin, Whitehead, William James, Nietzsche and others give testimony to this sense of the entanglement and fluidity of being, the emergence and always co- or inter- of existing.  The “relational nexus of experience,” as Manning has it here.  The incipient potential of each pre-moment and then following “instant,” the elasticity of the almost, the threshold ALWAYS of expression-in-the-making and all of its co-constituents from throughout time and space and anything else we have segregated arbitrarily.  Without further ado – What Moves as a Body Returns as a Movement of Thought, Events of Relation – Concepts in the Making by Erin Manning:

 

feel free to click image or title to read – (it’s a much shorter text than the last) – but no less engaging, creative, and provocative…

 

“Communication”

“Communication”

We, in our world, have a theory, a process really, that we call “communication.”  In various states of profundity it might also be referred to by “love.”

“Communication” is the process of signaling/decoding; saying/listening; writing/translating; touching/feeling by which we become aware of one another, about one another, of one another.

All things considered, “communication” is pretty important for us, though not necessarily to us.  While appearing more complex and refined than single cells or parts of cells vibrating under a microscope; more elaborate and extensive than a swarm of birds or school of fish, it hardly works as well.  As if certain sharp things and certain dull things cancel one another out.

Pitch, tone, palate and respiration.  Vocabulary, grammar, syntax.  Associations occurring in the brain, the glands, the organs, the body.  I’ve always thought of our existence as “fraught” and it never ceases to amaze me!

Amaze and astound, in no particular order.  As if “stound” were past-tense for “stand.”  Stopped-in-tracks-reeling-backwards.

There’s nothing to it really, we all do it, all of the time, innately, it would seem, given we could not survive without it.  And yet.  “Innate” wouldn’t be the right word.  Maybe “potential” as if capacities and possibilities surround every cell toward response.  And then.  What becomes.  Responsibility.  Of that interstellar stuff moving and extra-anatomical stuff too.  Kind of equals.

So we’re not necessarily “good” at it, and hardly possess a measure, everyone on equal footing at some point, depending on the context, depending on construction (of the possibles) and so forth.  It’s often accurately called “fuzzy” or “messy” – an entanglement of sorts in no sense negative.

I always liked William James – the jumble-up of him.  “Rich thicket of reality” he called it, a passage to get caught up in, sometimes snared, sometimes struggling, but ever in its midst, I suppose.

Lyn Hejinian once pronounced it “inexhaustible.”

I just wanted to mention…

“The argument would go something like this: reality exists; it is independent of what we think though it is the only thing we can think; we are a part of reality but at the same time consciousness of this fact makes us separate from it; we have a point of reentry (a ‘centrique happinesse’), which is language, but our reentry is hesitant, provisional, and awkward”

-Lyn Hejinian-