ADD
MORE
VASELINE
little earth
crumbles
underneath
foot
endure
and fish
by obstinate isles
'dont pile
up reasons for
activities'
activities'
with
marriage debris
in yr mouth
i.e.
the
public water fountains
in Zurich there are approx.
1,200
“I even openly claim the right to obscurity, which is not enclosure, apartheid, or separation. The obscure is simply renouncing the false truths of transparencies. We have suffered greatly from the transparent models of high humanity, of degrees of civilization that must be ceaselessly worked through, of blinding Knowledge. This is the famous story of Voltaire who, while he was defending Calas, was buying stock in slave-trading enterprises. The transparency of the Enlightenment is finally misleading. We must reclaim the right to opacity. It is not necessary to understand someone–in the verb ‘to understand’ there is the verb ‘to take’–in order to wish to live with them. When two people stop loving, they usually say to each other, 'I no longer understand you.’ As though to love, it were necessary to understand, that is, to reduce the other to transparency.”
Opaqueness clings close to things, making the nail work harder. saying what you mean in the fewest and clearest words shows signs of a sobering-up process. By a call to order, disguised as a manifesto for more freedom. The championship of nothing unintended, nothing reversed, nothing impious, nothing embroidered, nothing metaphorical. No Sop, No Sop, No Sop. that final purity bells all the pleasure of specious perfection here: Confucius: “When you have done justice to the meaning, stop.” implies restraint. To reach a perfect dumb adequacy, a God-placid stasis is only to quarantine like sentences. What is a sentence? We are sured up by how intrinsic that particular form is, as if sentences really rendered our thoughts. No full sentence really completes a thought. something something “motoring” here and there refusing in the pulse syntactic ideality of the completed sentence congeals and administers a definable place.
And so a quick line from Meister Eckhart: “No man can see God except he be blind, nor know him except through ignorance, nor understand him except through folly.” Why should it all boil down to one. Maddening feeling that the right words, are the only words are awaiting your clamouring thought.
In linguistic capitalism, language IS instrument: words + their arrangement amount to complete opposite of contingency; here a word or two or a speech act, becomes simple exchange. Language in/as capitalism is not counted as a ‘cost’ of production like wages but as resource, ‘free’ within a capitalist economy rooted in production. informational communication cops disembodied capacities of automated reason that rise above in increasingly muting terms; the demise of the oral tradition is the demise of tradition more generally... an age where words are infinitely fungible as to be meaningless, even in a market of poetry…a market that produces without a market since the transfer of communication is rapidly absorbed.this regime is reduction of speech to mechanism spoiling misunderstanding by eliminating ambiguity in advance – to reduce elasticity of striving sense perception to bitrate minimum.
Defence against management consultancy model of poetry the collapse of specialisation and separation into a collage of discourse. to fetishize the endless proliferation of modes of digital technology in a manner which overlooks the very real, physical, and non-digital modes of labour exploitation and oppression. The auto-correct feature is the errant mechanics communication. The mouth is no longer the capacity of words to find new form, it is rather the algorithmic epidermis that operates on our behalf; where auto-corrected sentences accumulate in my notes, a quavering makes me think of WCW's stroke ravaged body contended on type: 'words are the burden of poems, poems are made of wods'. embedded electronic stutter now informs/renews societal exchange data validation replacement is the interdiction to the positive replacement taking place beside you, the common denominator. Etaoin shrdlu WAS exactly this moment, the most frequent letters slugged out when a mistake made 'absurdity' into print. Joyce assimilated it neatly in thousand paged 'bitched type': 'eatondph 1/8 ador dorado douradora.'
In poetry you can do no better than surrender communicative relief (sentence-form); the laborious hammer of work draws universal humanlike understanding near the pool unmuddled by any self-dishonesty either stupid or highly conscious, or by cant, or by comprehension of others made in fear and misunderstanding. Words thus arriving u get all sorts of static, bad transistors and all of that include all that.
Worlds coming thru in restless glossolalic offering up seizures caught by a piece of lingual dross, tangential, beseeching and ricochet and ricochet and ricochet and ricochet. Lines proceed without lag, without presumptuousness. Ear out for speech and its collisions, its unmanageable inevitabilities accommodated...it’s out of that gap, that resistance to making the thing and word adhere as purposeful. Words are jittery, Protean shape-changers refusing any designatory stamp beyond the momentarily contextual. “All the words make sense.”
the danger is
in the neatness
make ecstatic
kitchenettes
