In writing

Posted on October 25, 2010 | Leave a comment

In writing, in you, my demiurge. And beyond you and your endless detours? I lost my way the moment I started addressing you. In writing: Maya. And beyond you, beyond these illusions of writing? But isn’t this ‘beyond’ itself part of writing? With the very first word, no beginning or end in sight. No project. As lost now as ever. In writing: under the sun of the Fallen Angel. Writing: images in a broken mirror. Still I like to wonder what the mirror reflects.

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Posted in Writing

Posted on October 21, 2010 | Leave a comment

Rabbi Isaac Luria warned his pupils:

We do not have permission to reflect on reality before the emanation of the world, and we are not allowed to compare it in any way to known forms and images. We only speak in a parabolic manner to satisfy the need of comprehension, but a wise person will understand by himself that this does not reflect an actual representation of divine reality.

– Moses Jonah, in The Kabbalistic Tradition (ed. and tr. A Unterman)

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Posted in Kabbalah

Speak in silence

Posted on October 21, 2010 | Leave a comment

I can’t talk to nothing, so I talk to you. I can’t talk to what’s beyond you, so I talk to you. I’ve often thought of you as my god. I like to think I can talk to you, though you break up my voice. But isn’t that what makes the prayer to what’s beyond you possible? Isn’t that how we can both learn to speak in silence?

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Posted in Writing

By the balls

Posted on October 20, 2010 | Leave a comment

All they have to do is watch and listen, says X. Maybe make the odd note on us. They don’t even have to turn up, all they really need to do is watch and we’re stuck. We have no answer to that, no answer at all. Or maybe you have an answer? A secret weapon. No? No. We’re stuck, he says, they’ve got us by the balls.

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Posted in Writing, X

Horror

Posted on October 20, 2010 | Leave a comment

X is looking out at the dark sea through the pub’s rain-spattered window. A chill air comes through the frame. Horror, he mumbles, nothing but horror, like in the old days. It never goes away, he says, we just learn to ignore it. We blur it with our pints and pills. He turns to me. When will you kill me? You were going to not so long ago, remember? But you lost your nerve like you always do. Well I’m still here. When will you do it?

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Posted in Writing, X

The triangle

Posted on October 20, 2010 | Leave a comment

You’re right, I tell X, there are three of us here, in this triangle. But it’s a strange triangle, with shifting angles. Three of us, I say, and our words like pinballs bouncing off the sides. Three of us, and who else can break in? Sometimes it opens, doesn’t it? I say. In fleeting moments.

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Posted in Writing, X

The black page

Posted on October 18, 2010 | Leave a comment

Perhaps there is a kind of speech different to that which adds noise to the world. That subtracts silence from that noise, as you would draw with your finger on a condensated window.

To speak by subtraction – to let silence sound and speak thereby … is there a kind of writing that unwrites the written? A white writing, a writing blanched; or is it the other way round: a black page slipped beneath black ink?

– Spurious

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Posted in Spurious