There is no evidence. There is no proof. There is only speculation and the clever engineering of the language, the construction of a new meaning, a new idea. Out of a loose consensus as to definitions the mortar is made, the building is razed, and raised again, a new form found in the recycled lumber, the salvaged nails with their bowed heads. Play along. Play along. Celebrate the permanence, the legacy; certainly everyone will know who lives here...those who don't will be compelled to ask, awed by the steep arrogance of the edifice. This is a latter-day Babel and you are the builder, the climber, the liar, the fool. You imagine there is salvation in your version of esperanto; but the simple truth remains that even you--unafraid of the undertow of words--cannot begin to understand the most basic phrases uttered by your fat and simple wife (as she sits across from you over breakfast). Just last night you showed her the blueprints, unrolling the scrolls with proud purpose. She had no reaction, really, save for cutting you a second slice of pie.
"This journal is not a mere literary diversion. The further I progress, reducing to order what my past life suggests, and the more I persist in the rigor of composition--of the chapters, of the sentences, of the book itself--the more do I feel myself hardening in my will to utilize, for virtuous ends, my former hardships. I feel their power." --Jean Genet
Showing posts with label constructs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label constructs. Show all posts
12 October 2010
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