Hollow nameless day. Trapped and suffocated the writing suffers. It is almost dead today—but how to give it breath? The writing cannot be stepped outside of, the only way is to go deeper and see what can be invented from those darkest soils. But the breath becomes ever more laboured and there is no light. There was light but the brilliance has gone, it was another false lead; brilliance as will-o’-the wisp. It was a brightness that drew the writer in the first place. Fool’s gold that fed a greed (a need?).
These words seem the same as last week and the week before. The feet offer no metre. A misunderstanding. Are the words being dug for, mined? Or are the words doing the digging? Maybe it is a trap. The mined words need to mine more words and so become tools in the process. Or does that agglomeration of words need going back through to find what is most useful. Is that where the inventing takes place? In the choices of that selection process? In the slag heaps there are things of great value but it is not enough to just see them for they must be worked further…stop…
…Oh, weary writing! The words go round in circles, not getting anywhere (nor anything). Flattering (or fluttering) to deceive. The words are tired, tired from the writing fighting on multiple fronts. For instance, the ‘I’s are relentlessly crashing at the doors…it is becoming deafening at times. How can they be kept back…how can their appeals be ignored? Multiple fronts? Doors? Does this not suggest some sort of boundary; an inside and an outside? But the words are worked from within (or should that be of). Is the problem that this word working is being viewed as a hand-made process? Is the problem that the process is viewed at all? By viewing the process it is moved into an external space where it can be observed and worked upon. Something like a scientist’s glovebox is a useful image here, wherein the worked words are contained in a sealed unit into which the worker reaches with gloved hands. The word-hand interaction is devoid of almost all sensuosity.
The images keep imposing themselves, it is they that create the boundary.If only this image-making could be short-circuited…circumnavigated. This eye-dependence brings the ‘I’ with it and creates a state of detachedness or aloofness. This tail (tale?) eating is confusing. Is the writing the analyst or the analysand? But therein is the problem. It is in the stating it in these fixed terms: analyst/analysand might as well be here/there, I/other and so on. The imposing of these poles strangles things, snuffing the life out of them, trapping any breath that was there. The cherry on the top is the art object which seals up the artist/art object/viewer dynamic. The artwork must become verbal, and the analyst too. The analyst and analysis should be loosened off its moorings and set free not to discover new worlds but to invent of them.
The dark soils lighten slightly. A horizon of lighter deposits glistens dimly but the hours of daylight at this point in the year are limited and the light will soon fade. This will not be a dark sheet placed over all but instead it is a creeping darkness that is inhaled and finds each and every (fractal) corner.
I don’t know how I ever used to write. I don’t know; however, I used to write. I don’t know whoever I use to right. I doubt knowhow ever used to write. I’d out whomsoever is right. Idiot whom writes. Idiot rights. Idiotic rites.
don’t don’t don’t
know know know
used used used
to to to to
write write write
I don’t! To know used write. Ever right idiot, how? However, whoever use doubt knowhow. I’d out whomsoever is. Whom idiotic rites.
will you help me understand what is going on here? Bring some words; bring many words, as many as you can carry (and more). I ask a lot of you. We will use these words to build our defence but we must not let our heads appear above the paragraph break crenellations. Keep your head (down)! They have sensed us—you and I must stand aside, get down from here and hide ourselves until this has all blown over.
Last night, travelling west in the dark of a winter afternoon the vague silhouettes of wind turbines reminded me to write this. To right the way I write things. A strange reminding; maybe it was the colours of the darkness that reminded me or the darkness in counterpoint to the previous day’s brilliance. An unpropitious opposition. Instead, it was the darknesses in and of themselves.
In establishing this defensive arrangement the words are being kept at a distance. Small skirmishes take place on occasions but the onslaughts of last week are not being repeated. To understand what is happening here a step into the melee, which has unmingled, is required. In the stillness of this examination can be seen two distinct parties and an intervening barrier. It is uncertain if this barrier retains any level of porosity although it can be surmised that some seepage is occurring. To the left of the barrier are uncountable numbers of words. The words are of an almost finite number but their possibility of repetition is unlimited. It is possible that new words may come into play but in the present stillness this appears unlikely. A loud din to this side of the barrier can be seen but not heard.
To the right of the barrier is the writer-reader. Again there is stillness and quiet here. There is also a hollowness which appears unhealthy. This assemblage needs feeding but it is clear that the barrier is permitting little interaction with potential sources of nourishment. The stillness is deceptive though, for if we freeze the action at other points it can be noticed that the writer-reader hits itself repeatedly against the barrier. The stillness witnessed above is brought on by this dashing action and may be a form of concussion. Despite this apparent deprivation of nourishment the writer-reader is able to continue its sporadic dashing moves so it can be deduced that a limited amount of feeding is taking place.
To understand this further the barrier must be studied more closely. It will in fact be noted that the barrier has fine slits along its length. On closer inspection it will be observed that these slits permit access (from left to right) of an impoverished reflection of a certain (limited) sample of the distanced words. The writer-reader apparently is able to narrowly survive on this meagre diet. This impoverished diet inevitably leads to an impoverishment in the output of the writer-reader; an output heavy with representation and classical reflection.
It is known from previous studies that a barrier similar to that between the writer-reader and the words existed between the writer and the reader. It is not known at exactly what point in time this relationship altered but it is hoped that future verbochronological corings will narrow the perameters of this particular detail. Returning to the barrier currently under scrutiny, it can be observed that the slits which permit the meagre reflections of words through to the writer-reader do not allow a return of matter of any sort. Any output (good or bad) produced by the writer-reader in this period must be endured. From the current point of view it is difficult to understand how this system can maintain any essential commodious harmony. Further research will explore the possibility that looking for a possible harmony may be a distraction from the true potential of the arrangement.