It’s really a wonderful world. Being. It’s quiet and seems like everything is still. Yet it includes all movement. All movement is actually stillness and vice versa. It strips away fake importance and in its place is real meaning. It is difficult to hide there. Maybe that’s one of the scariest things about it.
Instead of coercive needs, it has acceptance. But the acceptance can have desire and affection and love in it. The most intense and scary things are right there alongside the everyday and familiar. but the everyday and familiar takes on a different, initially unfamiliar cast. Exactly like going through the looking glass. Everything on the other side is still there, but it’s a vastly wonderous strange world.
…. I sometimes get sick of words. Quite literally: a sudden urge to get a bucket and give in to the acid expelling movements of a letter-vomiting virus. I look at objects and people and they become their signifiers, they become nothing and nothing is anoying. And meaning… Old friend meaning, of whom life depended for so long, isn’t found.
Piles and piles of letters spreading with the wind like a thin dust, swimming in oceans of nonsense, being breath in and out of many lungs; spreading and sickening others.
I am not one and not one is my silence, my sickness.
One would think BEING should be a kind hand at the end of such transitory misery… But it really is not.
Maybe he was right, maybe “the space where we think of each other is its own country, where things are always brightly illuminated” …but maybe he really isn’t…
April 10th, 2014 at 11:03 pmW-n-B…
you point to so many things I’m trying to think through.
First, your reply reminded me of this Fitzgerald quote: “I don’t want just words. If that’s all you have for me, you’d better go.” I remember sending this to some lover, imaginary or real, I don’t even remember. It also reminds me of a Warsan Shire lyric, “you can’t make homes out of human beings, someone should have already told you that”.
I wonder — words, letters, semiotic structures, sign systems, discourse… intercourse. How can we not become nothing? Is our ontological status dependent on/constitutive of meaning making and signification? I guess that’s why thinkers like Kristeva focus so much on the chora, the space of becoming, and the space of pre-signification. Even though that in itself is an impossibility. She does delineate this process in a book, called, no less, “Revolution in Poetic Language.”
There’s also the expression verbal diarrhea which you somewhat point to… but puking words is different that being unable to control the depletion of words without form.
April 11th, 2014 at 11:08 pm