April 12, 2013 § Leave a comment
the snow does strange things to my ocular sensitivity. the brightness of the fresh powdered snow sparks at the edge of my vision field. It made my hair gleam in front of my eyes as if under a black light. the outlines of my legs and arms as I walked had traces of ultraviolet in their wake, auras. certain light must bounce back, refracted, coating all the lines and contours with a fuzz of liquid purple, blue, glow.
Pulsating. Inside the supermarket it took ages for my eyes to adjust and when I closed them a lake of green. degenerate eyesight. pulsar state.
January 14, 2013 § Leave a comment
The space between you and something else can never be breached and the distance between you and me is the distance between me and a mountain. The distance between you and me, me and a mountain. This is in the physical sense, as in particles have this charge that repel and so the basic ‘stuff’ never touches – but then when it comes to emotional and intellectual – is there the same kind of charge? It feels like there is sometimes. Like very thin wedges of static electricity grinding themselves together in a sort of lathe type motion – tiny tiny thin edged triangles of static, all running through and against each other. Firing energy but never really meeting, friction only. I visualise this sort of stuff when I speak to people. sometimes I just see huge wheels of wood clunking together. Sand sometimes.
January 14, 2013 § Leave a comment
Cave of Forgotten Dreams by Werner Hertzog. WOW. I started to tear up. I got so many rushes to the words of Anne Carson and Henri Bergson, Maybe also Jean Luc Nancy. The space between things, the inevitability of propelling yourself toward a surface. Traces. Monsters, the driving arrow, forging rivers. The eyes staring back. And the sounds buried within pictures. Always the sounds.
“Let us imagine the unimaginable, the gesture of the first imager. He proceeds neither at random nor according to a project. His hand advances into a void, hollowed out at that very instant, which separates him from himself instead of prolonging his being in his act.But this separation is the act of being. Here he is outside of self even before having been his own self, before having been a self. In truth, this hand that advances opens by itself this void, which it does not fill. It opens the gaping hole of a presence that has just absented itself by advancing its hand.” -Jean Luc Nancy, Painting the Grotto, pg 75
Here I think of Bergson, describing the body at the edge of motion, “the body as an ever advancing boundary between the future and the past, as a pointed end, which our past is continually driving forward into our future.” – Henri Bergson Matter and Memory, pg 78
“A man moves through time. It means nothing except that, like a harpoon, once thrown he will arrive.” – Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red: A Novel in Verse
Inevitability, estrangement. The distance between you and other things. The impenetrable distance, even as close as you can get you can never, truly touch something else, only hover or rest against in millions of a millimetre thicknesses. the space between you and me, between me and a mountain, between the past and my own self; already advancing.
“Time isn’t made of anything. It is an abstraction. Just a meaning that we impose upon motion.”
“Meanwhile music pounded / across hearts opening every valve to the desperate drama of being / a self in a song.” – Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red: A Novel in Verse
Fears are often very ordinary.
January 14, 2013 § 3 Comments
Woke up at 4.30am this morning. 0430. Cat was beside my head, usually he is never up close to me. my bed is clear of the clutter that often adorns it and in which I basically burrow. All clothes away.
Do you know what space sounds like? It sounds like people hissing through glass at each other over a frozen lake. Then in the distance you can hear water rushing over polished silver. Also there may be some latent awake at 0430 sound of trying to hear something that awoke you. Behoven. Carried.
I was carried the other day, much like a new bride over the thresh-hold. That I could be carried amazed me. I screamed.
Now the sound is like crystal shards being harangued by the wind and a snow palace or maze. Winding towards the middle where finally it is just a crystal cage and you watch people outside trying to speak and all you here is the reverberations hitting the shards at odd angles and having the colour of almost blue.