a series of fragments & notes about chance, fate, context & intention by Dara Wier
and at a particular crossroad I found myself standing before a series of false doors any one could swing open with an almost sudden announcement, or with no warning
at an odd time for no reason,
for no good reason
what for? nothing
nothing so to speak of
nothing
not that it matters only just something to look at to think about as in I thought about the tiny flattened glass urn embedded in the back of a book filled with a big of ash made of some chips of Shelley's skull.
I heard myself ask myself so what good is poetry if inside it you think no differently than when you are elsewhere?
then it happens to be that one realizes that it's not that simple, you can think the same way in a poem's territory but because it is in a poem's place it will be thought of differently, it will be thought of as what is in a poem's place comes to be thought of, it is not the same as in prose, it is not the same, it is something else because it is elsewhere, it is somewhere other than in prose or for that matter, anywhere else
and I felt myself think so what then are you going to do?
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what is called realistic behavior when talking about a fictional character could be called unbelievable, unreal for a person with a life on the other side of the cover of a book
you pointed at me and because the front of me is always one side of the moon or the other
you said how romantic are the chemicals of which we are made
he was an ancient Marxist baby, he ate anteaters with triceps they were bophospherous and gusty you could see what made him quiver you could see his tiny antennae twitch, you could fathom some of the rationalizations
who told me to picture fish rising up out of a deeper darker pool to snatch a nibble furtively then race away
to turn the pages of a book, from opening its cover to closing it on its final page, but not to read a word of it..........
"The first step, using a virus to gain entry, is to infect a specific group of brain cells with a protein that makes them sensitive to light. Then a wire optic cable is implanted next to the cells, to beam in photons. Turning on the light activates the cells, while neighboring cells are unaffected---a feat of spatial and temporal precision impossible to achieve with drugs or electrical stimulation." (The Body Electric, Kim Tingley, New Yorker, p. 84, Nov. 25, 2013)
first of all the language of this: pieces of the language of narrative: first, then, first, then and then and then and then
non-narrative? as hard to come by as something meaningless is hard to come by
how to find narrative momentum in an abstract theme, it happens all the time
wind rain in weather
to begin something, to find a way in and to look for a way out, to leave it
basing anything on an approximation of anything that someone has only glimpsed only from a distance
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my friend, a live one, says she likes her best friends to be alive in books, she says those friends stay on the page, never change even as they change, never say to her.......I'm not who you thought I am, thought I was, thought I was going to be
a little Roland Barthes making useful sense in readerly writing
writing that makes no requirement of the reader to produce meaning, reader locates "ready-made" meaning.......
e.g. words presented within "the principle of non-contradiction" --no disturbing "common sense,"---they work "like a cupboard where meanings are shelved, stacked, [and] safeguarded"
writing about a writerly piece of writing: writing ... to make of a reader "no longer a consumer but a producer"---interaction with culture and its texts.,"---ourselves writing, before the infinite play of the world is traversed, intersected, stopped, plasticized reducing the plurality of entrances, the opening of networks, the infinity of languages"---so Barthes wants of reading not something merely [he is emphasizing this] parasitical but complementary and a "form of work"
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