The prose resists easy readying. At times it seems composed of a sequence of obstacles. It slows you down. It slows you down (that’s a good (“good”) thing). Sprockets on a gear—ratchets (ratchets)—somewhat worn shoes on a brake—several brakes controlling the same equipment out of synch.
Or (for that matter) even while you’re wearing them.
But strapped with meaning. Meanings. The capitalist state produced this language as a necessary (an absolutely necessary) anti-virus—a virus without a host—a viral state. “In colonized communities, poor skills can ensure the continuation of poverty pimps.” It’s elegiac in a way—prophecy in reverse. Meaning is meaningless (these days). It defies grammar—and in doing so defies gravity (the grave kind silly—but the other kind too).
Time flails us. Words come out.
The texts are also colloquial and fun.
The bottom line is
I don’t give a rat’s ass
There’s humor too—extremely quick—grapheme by grapheme.
The forms are various—always suited to the needs of the text (and vice versa). This / that mind is inventing things. They’re terse. Few words of a man.
His work evidences a lot of respect for the language. He knows that it can hurt—that it can create other feelings as well—that it can bust out of one idea into another (instantaneously) and (perhaps) change something.
There is something the matter with matter. There is something the matter (something [something the matter]) with matter (these days). Language is the evidence of that—and (as is always the case with evidence as such) the beginning of the possibility of change.
Language always has a story in it. See his “British Props” for one of any examples. Whether this is inherent (i.e. before) or applied (i.e. after)—that we may not come to know.
it’s all urine re: eating this text the opening’s closed reading the words “reading this text” contribute to the alienation of the already disenfranchised
Brecht—anyone?
Everything is where something else was. That also is the nature of language. Mass equals energy times a certain constant squared—where that constant is language.
Brevity is a way of saying a lot. (So there!)
we don’t have proverbs we have clichés
A cut is a possibility—a slice of life—endless possibilities. Sometimes there are nothing but (but [nothing but (but)]) corners. Corners produce unknowable instances of thought. Everything is unfinished.
in/ed/re/o/ex/pression
Read your way through the speed slowly. Live in the foment. Language tends to live in denial.
When everything is a slower version of itself the world will be at peace.
This writer’s language has the potential to scare reality. This writer’s languages have the ability to scare reality (as we call it).
Language has life dead centre.
Mistakes don’t matter. Mistakes are not matter.
[12Feb07]