Decoys

Away

Back early Jan.

Exhilarated by Mankind in its Language

[An improvisation on words found at Fido the Yak, and I Remember / Je Me Souviens.]

± I'd like to affect imaginative exercises in writing and say that sometimes it is an objective description, but I continually see myself unable to acclimate to my immediate feelings, and immediately feel exhilarated by mankind in its language. Quick, extemporize …

± Should we free ourselves from feeling exhilarated by our imagination making good use of the image that thought demands in multiple ways? Or are we to follow an indifference that could affect our imagination so it is a useless interior facing nothing? Who tends to immediately feel exhilarated by how the memory in our imagination could change in this way? Remember that anything could change. Perhaps we free ourselves from feeling exhilarated by walking a labyrinth of change that rests upon an affirmative answer? You know your way to thought is to embark upon an affirmative answer to questions you remember. What should we feel about the question without knowing it could be something else entirely? I remember how impossible this language may be when we're following a question about thought with an answer that, if anything, is this notion that is itself reflected in itself: the question and the answer are the concave to the convex, the plastic and implacable substrate within its existence. I’m saying something about understanding, about philosophical reflection, whereas, in multiple ways, maybe I realize now that my perspective on the implacable substrate within existence was completely prosaic.

± How then can I approach either directly or from another path without knowing that demand that takes me where I continually find myself hearing the unheard-of? I continually fail to fall square-toed, an incapacity where I follow a labyrinth of insignificance, or better, bewilderment at when we're directly following a more interesting question without clear awareness: why would I lack in my economy of imagination? Anything that could be from my imagination could easily snap off and break.

± So my life is an incognition, a meditation, a nonthinking; these paths you approach with the expanding image of indifference at the question. I continually find myself unable to comment on the question, whatever it is, and I am thinking about nothing without knowing if I could say anything again, knowing that it completely sucks out that exhilarated feeling. So I (pretend to) bring silence. When we're following a constricted metapher of silence, there is always facet of it, if you approach from another side by hearing the raw language we continually fail to respond to, that would lack in immediate feelings. The outside to the world is what thought demands every minute from our imagination. A constricted world is impossibly, and arguably, a useless artefact of doubt in place of adventure. Yes, what I’m saying right now is that perhaps we could forget about all this.