Friday, December 26, 2008

i am up at 4 am because i'm having a language crisis.

why does language fail?

maybe the more correct question is: why do i give language the power to fail me?

i just want to go the buccaneer motel in Nag's Head and stare at the Outer Banks until i find some peace. wouldn't that be nice?

this is serious because i'm even drinking coffee already...


it all began with the word "perfect."

and then the word "love."


even bear dog is on the floor, licking with his nervous lick.



when i see, hear, use [which is rare, indeed], encounter the word:


it automatically registers as IMPERFECT. to attain PERFECTion means something akin to acceptance of IMPERFECTION. true acceptance of this limitation put upon us all.

this automatic interpolation of the notion of perfection has been completely absorbed. like my vision--these are the eyes i have. one sees far. one sees close. perfection is imperfect. of course it is.

i send this quote to my dearest.
from the Gospel of Truth, on who a gnostic is:

"It is they who manifest themselves truly, since they are in that true and and eternal life and speak of the perfect light filled with the seed of the father, which is in his heart and in the fullness, while his spirit rejoices in it and glorifies him in whom it was, because the father is good. And his children are perfect and worthy of his name, because he is the father. Children of this kind are those whom he loves."

[and, i bet yr thinking, wow, she really does believe in God. and the answer is, yes, i really do believe in God. i don't blame God, or god, for what his followers have done, will do, are doing.]

of course. she is right to call the use of PERFECT into question. finding humanity imperfect. and that being the gift, really, of God... allowing us this imperfection and choices.

but i read it. as imperfect and therefore perfect.

because, what more can be expected of humans?

is it really in the striving that we are perfect?

what is the problem?

the problem is that we didn't understand each other. we have different dictionaries.


and then there is translation. and deconstruction. and the use of declarative statements. and then i went into my automatic resentment towards Kerouac and, now, Bolano.... for their indiscriminate travel and fucking.... i mean, i do have a knee-jerk "those fucks" reaction to these narratives about men traveling all over and doing whatever they feel like doing... maybe it is because my life as a man has yet to be lived... but, really, i think it is because there is an assumed understanding that this is going to happen and these things are so "transcendent" and wow. what a poetic lifestyle.


i don't even care if yr mad at me.

you should know i'm having a moment.

and then a quote from JS


and here i am.

not in a rage
but frustrated that communication is dependent upon language. and frustrated that, in purely epistolary relationships [which are RAMPANT now, due to email and texting]... communication is become NOT-.

and it makes me feel small.

and that the world is a OUIJA board.

[for example, you should INTRODUCE yrself, random so-and-so, before you make comments. i think it only polite. and not so frightening.]


and then, i think....

but, i believe, i fundamentally believe, in the reader's autonomy.

i don't believe in the authority of the author.



these are pieces of a morning.

i will take a nap.

walk the dogs.

eat breakfast.

go for a run.

and then enter language. as if i have a choice.



hssn said...

hello kate. i'm hassen. i like this post.

kathryn l. pringle said...

thanks hassen. [i know you!]