Some Violence

June 22, 2010 § 4 Comments

Words have no meaning. There is no such thing as context. There are no words. Words have no meaning and to think they have meaning is delusional. It is selfish to believe that words are attempting to speak with you. You are projecting. You are projecting your own meanings onto the words.

There is no such thing as personal meaning, a meaning that someone can inherently have and project onto others or onto words. There is no meaning in anything except in uncertainty. You are projecting nothing, a delusion, an abstraction, onto words to force them into meaning. Forcing words to mean things is like rape. When you presume that a word has meaning for you you are raping that word. Pressing yourself into a word via a presumption of it is a violation. There is no way to say anything.

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We have made a discovery. There is no way to say anything except in a jargon that notes ambiguity and distributes it among more words because increased context may help increase meaning.

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A counter-discovery: more words means more violations. It means more potential misunderstandings. The declared intention to use more words is an act equivalent to a declaration of war.

The actual use of more words is genocide, so a declaration of war spoken with as many words as possible is both a declaration of war and the first act in that war.

Communication is violence.

June 15, 2010 § Leave a comment

I watched a hawk going into a dive from its slow circles. Wings tucked in, the bird accelerated and disappeared behind a building. I jumped up and caught it just as the wings flattened completely: a bat going capsule, a nuclear missile. I lost it behind the line of brick.

No one else saw.

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I wish I could burn every iPhone out of existence with phosphorus boiled down from urine.

A little poem

June 10, 2010 § Leave a comment

Here I am bored let me write you a poem about something.

This poem is just for me and you and in a little while I will erase it.

Hi do you know about the windstorms and how they can carry
branches high in the air so high they do not get tangled
in telephone wires

(and at these times) the wind is so heavy it feels like maybe
you can lean into it, and it will support you
or else like you can build a home out of it, and live there

and when we go out in these storms we’re wearing thick coats flapping everywhere
and we can’t hardly hear anything
and your hair is whipping around your shoulders
and you look at me and you say “WHAT?”
and I kiss you and love you
and the storm keeps on
and you lean into me and we go off together to be alone

Where Am I?

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