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Lunch break

I'm thinking of the human voice. Of speech. Of the subversion of communication. Of the pre-fabrication of meaning. Of Emotions language and meanings. What slips past.

What infer requires of the logic of thinking. A systematic ordering may go, have gone, too far into a systematic disordering. What is the form or norm for variation? Who are WE fighting?

I'm enriched by the everyday and how to awaken the discarded the disused language. There is a lot to discover or re-discover in the rubbish that surrounds us. We are smothered and inundated by the language of persuasion, by deadened rhetoric.

A slip of the tongue: a slip thru the wet head.

Or/and the exuberance of song.

I want to walk, or perhaps tear, thru the contempt. The contemplative. Sometimes veer off into the impure pleasures of sounds. Somewhere between a song and a chant.

There is no I shan’t. No commandments.

I find pleasures in these language arts, an impure poetics, which is a motion and a delay. A pedestrian poetics. A nomadic poetics. Always an impurity.

A steady beat or wobbly but something that tracks and derails the mind, the constrictive mind awakened not deadened by language visual rhetoric theatre music education etc. etc.

We think we know what we think but we seldom know what thinks thru us.

Someone has already said this.

L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E Poetics of the 80's and 90's and form as content. The structure/grammar of a language is also content. Artifices of absorption and all the rest.

Considerations of audience and crass marketing. I DO NOT write from the hill above the city but IN the city. Among the rubble of everyday. The discarded. The cliched.

THIS is also a kind of difficulty: the complexity of the simple. Mind it.

Modernist techniques: collage, weird little juxtapositions, (even lineation) are used in advertising but often tells us little, or perhaps a lot, in terms of depth? Is there a faux depth? A foxy depth? A foxy death?

Intellectual and or emotional. Abstractness can be both.

(14/2/2011 from the notebook)

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