Old Old Words

drops from an archaeological ocean — to be reworked

Month: January, 2010

il y a plus de sens…
un peu plus…

I manage to read…

that is, I manage to sustain an activity for a long period of time…
… even if I don’t see the meaning straight away…

This is the thing.

The will…

I have to keep up.

Idéalement, après ce temps de lecture….
Il faudra changer un peu d’optique.
Raffiner encore.
Ne pas enchainer les livres, mais y rester… les creuser…

Diable.
Il va falloir bosser…

Ugl…

And I will have to … create…
produce things…

How on earth shall I do that??

Produce, produce…

I still have the strong inclination towards creation.
I want to do something…
I still don’t find the way.
I still don’t know how to start…

I am alone, alone, alone…
And yet, precisely, haunted…
True loneliness will only be granted through others.
Through the Masters, the Fathers, etc., etc.

(alas)

Hard to find the meaning…
Things are so incomprehensible…
Most of things.
In cultural objects…

lol… silly thing, this desire to understand…
not silly…. but, maybe, just not necessarily what I really want…

understanding will lead me to criticism…
much more even than philosophy…

big works are done beside understanding…
beyond…

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faut-il… abandonner le sens?
étonnant… il semble bien que ce soit ainsi que… la ‘vie’ veule que je fasse…

lorsqu’on fait des compromis, qu’on fait les choses absurdement,
là on est traité d’intelligent, de profond, etc.
là on est emboitable,
dans la société.

autrement pas.

je lis, sans essayer de comprendre
sans me battre
et j’écrirai sans doute comme ça aussi…

sans me battre
simplement comme un bêta
que ça veut que je sois… (dirait-on)

une vie meaningless
ce qui reste

25, 26

in january
a bit more poetry
than days

if only this little kabbalah
could tell the truth
and not just a
wish

maybe
at some point
it will cease
this slimy it
and another it
in me
will be allowed
to keep on
work

to take
one more
step
further

still one of these horror days

contrary to Cioran

I wait for twilight

for some morbid relief

absolute ugliness

of this empty day

not really empty that is only weighted with miasmatic thoughts

il faut continuer…

j’y suis parvenu…

il faut continuer…

passer le moment de vide, toujours là, toujours présent…

quel ennui, quelle horreur.

c’est un foutoir total.
c’est ce qui est difficile…
de parvenir à une version définitive… si on n’en écrit pas une directement…

ce processus ‘d’amélioration’…

je suis sceptique.

shit.

définitivement…

il va falloir avancer, avancer, avancer….

je fais tellement peu de progrès
je suis devenu tellement faible…

à quoi cela servirait-il … de l’écrire?
d’écrire ça?

tirednes…

I can’t write…
I have to…
I know I will not be able to do anything tomorrow…

this is bad…

I have to find a way…

I have to put that behind me…

Crazy…

After that and the 3 other things…
I should be ‘free’…
I should… be happy..
(as I had thought)

and yet…
I won’t be…
I am taken.
I am worn
Life sucked out, like blood.

Crushing system…
Nothing seems possible…
A dull, dull life begins…

Life of an inferior…
(socially, outwardly)

is this the price to pay
to remain strong inside?
… lol… as if I remained strong inside…
… well, a bit, maybe…
– I write.

how delightful
how powerful
– I write.

Joyce’s sentence.

aarh… brings me back to my déracinement…
away from literature… to music…
and now… I am hybrid…
I am … ‘bad’ everywhere…

**

I am fallen.

from certain types of innocence
from many hopes
from discipline and asceticism
(was it ever the case??)
(is it not simply a continuing fantasy?)

sad, sad…
tired.

the question remains unsolved…

how to read?

what is the place of reading…
how should it be done?

in connection with writing…

there is always this threat
double
time consumption
loss of writing

both intermingled:
second one because according to the academic methods, ‘analysis’ under various forms, reading can become long and complex, with no end: there is only reading, then… writing is lost.
first one linked to this infinite wandering into the Other – reading…

how to read without this disorientation?

desire to be able to ‘get into’ this Other
analyse pieces of work

[definitely delicious coitus between two levels – theory, eroticism:  theroticism/theoeroticism (and God around, undisposable, undiscardable, unriddable!, unclearable, unoutweedable…) – analyse the belovedesired – penetrate deep in the ass … of the Text – Ponge! Ponge! And the phallicity of wreading… (and its logical counterpart, (anal) riding!)]

and be able to carve my own things
text
score
whatever
(I should ask myself about this fixity in creation…
text, score… various forms, ok, but still… that’s a very narrow path… so limited… while there are such an infinite number of ‘forms’/’objects’ that can be carved… not even material objects… situations, configurations, moments…)

still… the concrete thing of ‘reading’
and relationship to actual writing…
use and motivation
of both

not yet solved

the night
the small light
the silence
of this squared space – room – walls

the ideal workplace

I get to work
to write
such an amazing victory
I am amazed

back and forth to the material
ordering things
finding quotes

this is how the text is given birth

sometimes I get lost
looking for something
which remains elsewhere
I stop and find something else
I am led to another place, another thought
– self-multiplying discoveries
– self-engendering

keep a balance between a direction, project,
? global coherence?
and the things of reality
stumbled upon.

writing…
it started…

and fell down.

wow, I feel the impossibility.

what I have written … does not hold.
Just like a fortress…
It is too weak.

I have to do things differently.
Create a subtly emptier text.

Less ambition
Less desire to make a point.

Take elements,

quotes passages ides

add them
linearly

find…

and write.

It hurts.
I have to do it.
I have to.

It is this idea about subjective construction of discourse…
Not want to take everything from primary or secondary sources…
Only what is interesting… what is remarkable…

Thus… gradually constructing thought: written text!
from/through reading…

Just as I do with popular culture…
I select passages… (naturally, instinctively)

BREWING!
the intellectual liquor
with the whole arm
into the cauldron…