ON
WRITHING AND WRY THINGS
Sean
Braune
Writing
is a closed system—an autonomous space.
The
poet Francis Ponge argues that he admires “writers most of all, because their monument
is made of the genuine secretion common to the human mollusk, the thing most
proportioned and suited to his body, yet as utterly different from his form as
can be imagined: I mean WORDS.”
Words
veil our bodies and exhibit our minds.
Words
rest upon the landscape and create blizzards.
Speaking
and writing are necessarily the result of various processes of selection,
permutation, and reassembly.
Speaking
and writing are chaotic systems that repeatedly make new chaotic systems.
Therefore,
words fall in place like the cogs of a machine or the ways in which leaves
collect in patterns on the ground during autumn.
Words
permute like blood cells or viruses and they proliferate in our minds—parasites
of thought.
Writing
is not a choice—it chooses you.
You
can’t run from language.
You
can try (I suppose).
Try.
“You
won’t get far you homo loquens you…”
Even
when we are not talking, we are talking.
And
the talking postdates an earlier writing—a writing that we are not even
conscious of (that constant blather and din that operates in the background).
Language is the white noise of consciousness and the general atmosphere from
which “selves” and “objects” differentiate themselves as selves or objects.
Therefore,
the word “self” selves (Hopkins) itself as a salve for the object’s
profound loneliness. For this reason, the word “self” solves the foundational
problems of existentialism because it repeatedly resituates itself in relation
to the object or Other through a variety of dynamic hierarchies.
This
statement is an effect of poststructuralism and certainly we are post-poststructural
now, which may perhaps be restructural.
These
new structures will be linguistic and they can be captured in writing if we are
attuned to the ways in which language is white noise.
We
need to engage with language in a langauge.
We
no longer need to write language. We need to measure language.
René
Daumal writes that, “although we believe we are addressing a man,” or, I would
hope, a human…“it is rather a worm, a pike, a sheep, a wolf to which we are
feeding the language that fattens him.” Daumal’s claim—which is certainly
’pataphilological—runs against the linguistic assertions of Abbé Condillac and
Rousseau. Language is not the unique invention of human beings. In fact, for
Daumal, language is not even spoken for and by humans, but for a variety of
other non-human creatures.
Language
isn’t ours, but we write it as if it were.
“Ours”
lasts hours.
Belonging
longs for being.
“To
be” being and belonging.
I
or you or we or they long for a complete sentence.
The
sentence is a sentinel—sometimes frozen.
Freeze
the frieze of language.
Stop
writing.
Stop
writhing.
Op
on wry things.
Operate
and eat the “E” at the “he.”
Get
past pronouns—we don’t need them.
Get
past the passed participle—we don’t need it.
Only
the presence of Gertrude Stein, or was it the present?
Writing
is (a) present.
Even
when passed or past.
(The
last sentence was incorrect).
The
writing should stop, but even when it stops it does not stop.
THIS
IS NOT A PRIMER ON HOW TO WRITE; ON THE CONTRARY, IT IS A PRIMO FACIE LISTING
OF THE FACTS OF THE FACIALITY OF LANGUAGE—OR LANGAUGE. THERE IS NO SILENCE AND
THERE IS NO SOUND. THERE IS ONLY THIS NOISE. THE DIN. MCLUHAN (FROM ANONYMOUS):
“We don’t know who discovered water, but it wasn’t a fish.” Link this to
humans and language and we’ll be getting somewhere.
We’ll
be getting here.
To
writing.
This
is a message to writing.
A
writhing.
A
writing that is arriving.
Sketch
out the shore.
Carve
out the waterline.
Right
it down.
Own
it.
Known.
As
knowledge.
The
edge of know.
Now.
Sean Braune’s theoretical work has been published in
Postmodern Culture, Journal of Modern Literature, Canadian Literature,
symplokē, and elsewhere. His poetry has appeared in ditch, The Puritan,
Rampike, Poetry is Dead, and elsewhere. His first chapbook, the vitamins of an alphabet, appeared in 2016 with above/ground press.
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