I had all these ideas I wanted to write down just like less than a minute ago and I would still write them down if I remembered what they were, what I wish they still are. Now, I’m my usual blank, from which I pull out more blanks, creating seamless chains of anything I doubt anyone has much use for. This is a kind of modesty and this is indisputably egotistical, the way I so thoroughly engage with language in ways few if any will find helpful. I should be optimistic. I should consider the possibility that I may achieve a goodly readership. I should trust that there’s a chance a few readers may find the words I’ve arranged engaging.
OK, now I’m in a mood in which I desire to write prosaic prose, and I’ve told myself I’ve exhausted my point in the prior paragraph. Well, there’s always, this, this going back to a point I make over and over, though hopefully each time with slightly different contours: I distrust the locution “my [this, that, those, any of any].” I don’t believe one can legitimately claim possession, or claim so without stating how one too is possessed. I believe there’s danger to easily believing in ownership. I believe there’s value to trying to build in freedom to what one claims to perceive, so that one may make clear to an interlocutor that you are prepared to be wrong, could currently be wrong.
Like unless it’s questionably legal, I don’t believe anyone besides me should care what I want to write, or rather how I want to write, or rather how marbled to what. Belief is a queer beast. I recognize the “like” opening this paragraph is unnecessary. My counter is this: I believe the “like” engaging because it’s a catalyzing word, a word which encourages followup, which is useful for going on with an essay, which in this instance is more aptly deemed Messay, which is awkward because I consider these sentences me being rather calmly me, almost lucid, almost transparent, almost plain.
Now, it’s time for a “from Blank to [Mark]” to Remark moment. I know I’ve just been pretentious, and more on-point have been being pretentious all along. I’m a fan of pretentious, or at-least a fan of pretentious writing, at-least a fan of pretentious poetry. Yes, pretentious poetry is what I mean. I arrive at value in pretentiousness. For example, the mindmotion Troping engages me. I love the notion substitution serves as an engine, that any dynamic could stand-in, pinchhit, for any other. One reason for this love is this: if dynamics can cross with each other, can engage and re-engage with a diverse field, then ownership becomes less possible. Qualification is necessary. I should have written ownership, in a world viewed as endlessly troping, may become more readily responsibly imagined.
Honestly, and why I’d start such a way, and threaten to diminish totally any credibility for what precedes this bit of this Messaying, is up for grabs and every grasping will somehow point to insensible, I’m not sure what trope means. I remember a friend saying it’s when one thin stands in for another, which seems consonant with substitution, with interchange. But what if he’s not telling any than sadly truncated tail? The term trope, to me, seems always already like a figuration, impossible to pinpoint semantically, but very possible to use in meaningful manners. I could be stupidly celebrating ignorance, or minding my own mind too scrupulously and glossing over the external world as if most significance doesn’t exist there.
My defense, and I’m not sure why I always have to have a defense, I guess it’s a property of prose, is that I’m pretty sure I’m not alone when I state that so much of what, of how, a person knows is based on a network of impressions that are not necessarily retrievable. Am I alone in stating that I usually don’t verify, with some authoritative source, a given concept I’m musing? If I am not, if indeed it is common for knowing to be filtered through memories, glimpses, bursts, and rarely for it to be ordered by complete research, maximal awareness of a Discourse, a mind incapable of perception as other than authoritative accuracy, acuity an impartial spectator can articulate, then there may be relevance to meditating this state. If one attends to the how of knowing, some sense may be intensified as to the what of it.
I understand the necessity of the What-State, but favor How. What strikes me as too much noun. How strikes me as being so much verb. How strikes me as being. Verbs, for me, already connote nouns. Pure action, pure doing, pure capability of doing, the very root of motion, is energy. Energy is a noun. But it’s a body, a matrix of bodies, acting.