words are just petty abstractions
for who we are.
so many times i’ve seen us–i’ve seen myself–use words we don’t mean. we wear these words on our mouths and we have to look them in the eye. somehow, their gaze always deflects off of us and onto one another instead. so infrequently do we hear our faces in silence. it takes time apart and quiet to take the masks off and see the shape of things said. only by then we cannot unsay them.
i had a p great conversation with @mikedelic this morning about words, masks, signification, and love. it started with something i said: “the letter always leaves”. if you’ve read any of this blog, then you might understand what i mean by letter. mike v aptly remarked that “the signifier doesnt even really signify!”
and he’s right.
there’s too much metaphor for my statement to mean anything concrete. maybe that’s exactly how it should stay. after all, i may want to rescind a meaning tomorrow, and if the statement is finite, then i have to wear those words forever even if i don’t mean them anymore. thus, many words here won’t necessarily mean one thing. but they’ll always mean the same thing.
i’m only speak abstract because i love you.
there’s no way to write my way to you anymore. where can i even begin when all i do is write? so many letters we’ve had. so many we have been. so many we have read. written. spoken. all past tenses. all permanent masks of pain and ambiguity. mike mentioned that this all could be metonymy. what would such a thing mean?
derrida once never said something along the lines that we are always living our politics. and that is why he never committed to any political standing in writing or speaking. never fully. he was always ambiguously mum.
many have criticised him for his ambiguity–to which his eyes twinkled and he smirked: just because we name a thing doesn’t make it truth.
it’s the kind of being that i am. it’s the face that doesn’t turn away even when it’s hopeless and hard. a mask that doesn’t walk away. do you remember? do you?