Saturday, March 28, 2015
Saturday, March 21, 2015
Pasternak is, indeed, the heroic prototype of the literary genius, incapable of conformity, fearless, identifying himself with humanity and not with a country, a political party, or a doctrine. Genius always possesses this indefinite concreteness, this passionate particularity, this piecemeal integrity.
David Wilcox, Bad Apple
Posted by Jack Saturday at 9:11 AM
Saturday, March 14, 2015
Many fecund ecosystems are strung along edges like coastlines and forest margins. I fished for these varietous utterances along spoken ecosystems (audio, radio [appealing to the inner rather than the outer eyes] is already "marginal"), but I didn't run a steel hook through the walls of their mouths and out their gills while they goggled in horror, and I didn't club them writhing to stillness. I re-schooled them, that's all, and it turns out they love to meet and mix with other fish, different fish, and your mind is the speilraum (playroom) play-lake of their mating while they appear to lie discrete, neither touching each other across the purity of the gaps, nor smeared over with any marmalade of music to suggest continuity or coolness. Once they parade past you, this school! Of thoughtfish, they are returned to the grand aquarium excited about other remixes, other relationships, other orgies, other play in the playroom of their sea, other channels, other canals. Your takeaway is both the spirits and souls of the thoughtfish themselves, and whatever offspring is born from their mating, or to use a fancier term, juxtapositions, or, to branch a neologism, juxtaprocesses, in your personal playroom (imagination).
…it's a need for less abrasive encounters, a little more space between the wheel and the axle. When the wheel and the axle get too close together, they lose THAT playfulness. There’s no play left. So they have to have a bit of distancing from each other.
Posted by Jack Saturday at 9:49 AM
Saturday, March 7, 2015
Don't You Think We Should Talk This Thing Over?
So the universe has always appeared to the natural mind as a kind of enigma, of which the key must be sought in the shape of some illuminating or power-bringing word or name. That word names the universe's principle and to possess it is after a fashion to possess the universe itself. "God," "Matter," "Reason," "the Absolute," "Energy," are so many solving names. You can rest when you have them. You are at the end of your metaphysical quest. But if you follow the pragmatic method, you cannot look on any such word as closing your quest. You must bring out of each word its practical cash-value, set it at work within the stream of your experience. It appears less as a solution, then, than as a program for more work, and more particularly as an indication of the ways in which existing realities may be changed.
Theories thus become instruments, not answers to enigmas, in which we can rest.
Posted by Jack Saturday at 10:11 AM
Saturday, February 28, 2015
The word "and" trails along after every sentence. Something always escapes.
i speak without reservation from what i know and who i am. i do so with the understanding that all people should have the right to offer their voice to the chorus whether the result is harmony or dissonance, the worldsong is a colorless dirge without the differences that distinguish us, and it is that difference which should be celebrated not condemned.
Posted by Jack Saturday at 10:35 AM