Ori*ntalism's Int*rlocutors.


starts with morning's cold
this manifold light that sings
story all to know


Our picture of how we use words is not only different from how we use them, if it were so, we could not even form that picture. Rather, it is one of our myths--call it the myth of thinginess (Haeccitas). It's why translation seems inherently paradoxical, and true philosophy a goal almost beyond imagining. And, when one abandons this myth, it is so great a leap that it takes only a modest degree of fetishizing to render it the Jewel in the Crown, the experience of experiences, satori--or letting go of words as words. Why should this be so? Is it that who we think we are, is also a grave matter of "words as words"? And where do we go from there?

"I looked
around
lousy candle's all I found"

--St*pp*nwolf


"The ultimate proof of his regime’s secular nature is the fact that in the Iraqi elections of October 2002 — in which Saddam Hussein got a 100 percent endorsement, and thus overdid the best Stalinist results of 99.95 percent — the campaign song played again and again on all the state media was Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You”." (via cursor)


old wisp floating still
fragrant stain
turning in morning's corona as
cars rip through that stationary cataract
of swung grasp and story fall