There are no words, Mem; that’s why. I’m not as eloquent as I would like to be, not yet, possibly not ever, and I would rather endure the dignity of silence than scrape at some superficial veneer of what I cannot name. Words have boundaries. Words aren’t emotion, and words aren’t things. When a thought refuses to be encapsulated by words, I can’t simply succumb to the limitation. I can’t agree to the lesser truth.
Protected: Dang Comet…
11 years ago
1 comment:
I will preface my comment with the following: if I am missing some larger context, please forgive; I prefer to navigate your blog as much the same a headless snake might (and this is my god-given right) without regard for logic or linearity.
Words are indeed things, but perhaps never the vehicle of communication intended. Words--like images in the case of visual artists--are not direct translations of ideas but ultimately agents of uncontrollable mutation to lesser or greater degrees, depending upon circumstance. This, however, does not undermine their claim to "thingness"; they are every bit the promise of a presence, only not yours entirely. Your argument is one of possession and control. They, words, are form beyond content (unless one acknowledges part of content to address pure form--"pure" acknowledged as suspect usage). All communication of perception is lost in translation. But being lost is still an indication of being in a space. And that particular space is something unattainable without the inertia of your language. Is this "lesser truth" or relational place, still offering a wonderful indication of your presence and thought, in acceptance of the refraction and diffusion inherent in the convertion of the fullness of experience into the tight confines of dissemination of the idea of experience?
3-16 oz. Budweisers into the evening I believe I've lost the moorings of my initial point. I do so appreciate eloquence, in some form. But your wrestlings and reflexivity are so neat and qualify as faceted eloquence.
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