The kind of guttural yelp that cannot find the words, at twilight, a half twisted smile of utter beauty and ghostly pain. I wish I could describe it to you better. Don’t read the about page; read what brought you here in the first place; read what makes you stay or go away; read and write and read and write and read and right. “Finding a balance between reflection and action”, these words don’t make much sense here, but it somehow lies that these words are precursors to something else, perhaps a coming together or a realisation that we are not at all. He says that ‘.networks’ are preferable to ‘.organisations’, and I suppose it goes along with one’s thinking about maneuverability, the possibilities for participation, connectivity. And ideals? I tear up.
So one acts alone, feverishly, perhaps to meet much dismay from the others. They come and they go. A guttural yelp. Let us restore that expression, something precursory to sensibility, an affect but all alone and thinking of you — fuck, it’s selfish. A conversation or just fantastic screaming. The ridiculous. He asks, “能说 ‘rational’ 来代表人吗?” Yes, perhaps.
So what could we do, too much expressionistically, moreso rationally? If I am not allowed to use the word “we” anymore, dare i say another?
Let me restore meaning to participation. Or I would like to. I would like to consider the empty spaces of respect, the distances necessary in love, in friendship and even intimacy. I would like to love you again. I would like to restore meaning to collectivity, to citizenship, to being all alone in the world. I would like to rethink my ways of relating to another, to rethink work and life and work in life. To make time to rethink, period.
The fool says too much again. Anarchically, anachronistically. Words that topple on top of words of words of words. iwishicoulddescribeittoyoubetter is now a network. Ha. Whatever that means…
Posted by 丫 | more »icarus
“Did I really speak? Have I ever really spoken?”
Posted by 丫 | reply »二OO八 看不见 二OO九
surrounded by family and friends we enter the new year blind. four o’clock, moving rapidly south, smoke-like clouds traveling overseas, engulf the land, the beach abandoned. three hours early or four hours late, another hour early. fireworks and outdoor parties banned, a massacre, an other new year, a blanket, as if called for. “i remember in 1990, maneesha used to say it would be the end of the world soon.” we sleep, prepare for life, the new, and still miss it by two minutes …in blindness, 2009
Posted by a | reply »on iwishicoulddescribeittoyoubetter, eyh
Who made this? asks the naive moment.
My first stir of thought has been to think of making.
The idea of making is the first and most human of ideas.
“To explain” is never anything more than to describe a way of making: it is merely to remake in thought.
—- from Paul Valéry, “Man and Sea Shell,” in The Collected Works of Paul Valéry, vol. 1 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1956), p. 117.
Posted by 丫 | reply »