the loose words lose their tongue in the trying. you lose the words in their loose tongue tying. Trying to be them. Unsettles the equilibrium for a moment that is certain. To leave a mark on skin. Surfacing with these words. Propelled, expelled the nuisance of their knowing to you and I and we and they, and all else besides. The crypt of their forgiving, foregoing the air that they need to dwell down in their dingles.
angles formed by trying to fit their limitless dimensions to a frame that has no matter. Awkward angles that jut and poke and pull and scratch and tear and puncture. Punctuate angles, all elbows and knees. Knitting together a part for a matrix. Off spring, out spring words. Dangerous words. Where are they leading? Me. Hear. They are leaving almost as soon as they came. What are we left with? You and I but not the words now. The words know they have been (and gone). To pieces. Two pieces.
The gentle breeze turns the leaves a little and reveals a lighter underside. The blackbird sings.
herd, wording, saying, speaking, slaying, splaying, spying, there the words. Are lost to all that come this way and those that don’t. Do not take these words for granted for they will follow and that is most unfortunate to you and I and they. Will be left here in the enclosure for all that is worth. While I leave here to leave them there to you to do your wont. I wanted them to follow me but realise that they must stay.
stay, sing these words with your ear. My speaking words are hear for you. Fore ewe. To trust in them implicitly. They will stay and stray and change with years before your ears. How did I intend them to be? How could I intend them to be? A fine line flexed between me and them, I and they. Aye, and they left me here loosely wording the writing that you are reading now and then and there. And their motives are unsure, their sentience lacking? Whilst the sentences are stacking. Up. And down the page we sprinkle the ripe pickings of punctuation’s palette.
Too much. Must be done to change the approaching of the words; the words encroaching. On me here. Distance and disjuncture are required to be sure that I do not become words and they do not become me. The words become landscape. Landslide, words slide, down, scree-fall, clatter, (chatter), heap, cairn. Building to direct. Directing to deceive. Perceive a faltering path…a trod. Hazily present. Trods. Hopscotching between. Through heather and by lithic scatter. The words tatter this way with their own gowns. Grown down. To here.
A guillotine and van Bentum
a bearded man, in profile. No, not that one. Oh, it’s Shakespeare is it. Portal to Shakespeare land.
I wanted me to write about how the English South Downs were formed over millions of years through the accumulation of the remnants of small and microscopic fauna. How the chalk of the Downs is almost entirely bodily remains.
I wanted you to believe that we were writing about writing…the accumulation being of words written but no, the writing is about reading. Hiding in reading and then forgetting.
Another day, another run. A good run.
We don’t often meet fellow travellers out on the wastelands, the sheep walks, the uplands. When we do meet others the advice is to make cuts, to draw lines but above all to take it easy. Rimanere tranquillo. We heed the advice, try to absorb it but also to examine it. It makes sense of a sort. But how to follow this advice? Looking across this #langscape we are moved to think of a new enclosing, less contentious now but also somehow uncomfortable (for the encloser). But these will not be parting words, certainly not in the sense of bidding farewell. They may though be parting words in the sense that these words form a part through their wording; through their becoming-here.
[a drone circles the protagonists, offering stunning cinematic footage as the awkward figure(s) move(s) haltingly through the #langscape. A map is consulted. The ground appears barren and spoiled.]
“We should beat the bounds.” Is the announcement. We must find a high place and look out and through; that will be our starting point. Certainly some areas will be hidden from us by the folds of the #langscape but at least some shape can be given to things. We will follow the obvious lines in the #langscape to provide a circuit of possibilities. We may still look out and in, not that there are such places. Choices will need to be made; some will appear strange for the moment but a suitable shape will form through minor adjustment.
Stuttered starts will have to do (what they are told).
certainly they unfacing trembled
the opall surfacing being
clor Tayls or
[& Guy. ta]