To bring into confusion…apparently means to war. Or at least this is what is suggested etymologically. Perhaps there is an illusory comfort in this etymological inquiry into words, harbouring a belief in origin, the origin of things, of language, of meaning…what a quest. Going back to things, as far back as one can, retracing steps & phrases & documents, but never the actual utterances or the actual moments, not really. Are we always preparing for history? Is my writing now simply a preparation for some future reflection? And perhaps that is the way it has been with writing & recording, since it began, whenever it began…Or no, no, because what began initially as marking & scratching through drawings, well that was celebratory, that was immediate & uncritical, unreflective…it was spontaneous and full of affect. Currently, this history making, this archiving, seems so much saturated in reflection, reflection, a kind of numbed affect – always at a remove from itself, so as I write I remove myself from myself…I remove, I go, I escape, I detach. Ag Ealu…as Gaeilge…trying hard not to be nostalgic, because that would be to surrender to the past, and forget about the celebration of presentness…or some such vagueness. What did Nietzsche say about reflection? Something cutting – something disparaging. He also advised that one should never drink weak tea in the morning. I have to say I concur with this logic. This whole babble, perhaps it is simply an effort to confuse things, to confuse & then to have the satisfaction of somehow calming matters – of somehow putting things right – we make such a mess for ourselves. How is it that existence has become so ultimately complex, how is it that the dust has been raised to a frenzy so as to seem that it will never settle? Why is it in the pages of history that time seems to have passed so calmly & yet so maniacly at the same time? Because it is we who write within the pages, and not Grandfather Time…Where was I? I have started War!
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the drips don’t reach here at least not as much as on the wings in the other rooms at the edges the noise is terrifying _ _ _ _
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there’s a space
here in the centre where it is quietthe drips don’t reach here at least not as much as on the wings in the other rooms at the edges the noise is terrifying _ _ _ _
It's just going to rain & rain today
A day for men to melt into the ground
A day for fingernails to come clean
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Da(Y)ncedreams*
Do you know I keep my shoulders hunched daily I think that by tensing them I will somehow reduce myself to a particular spatial capacity that will be in some way less troublesome and more acceptable to society I mean well... I think really It means to myself I mean "to myself" I have an inner demon working through my shoulders.
*a series of thoughts collated through a dance workshop with Frej Tiljander, choreographer/dancer.
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I'm still here...just thinking. I'm still here...just thinking. I'm still here...just thinking. I'm still here...just thinking. I'm still here...just thinking. I'm still here...just thinking. _ _ _ _
Forthcoming information on the person known as Jessica Foley will be published here – said person is known to dabble in such things as writing and art and teaching and in general things that weave in and out, across, through and beyond these aforementioned things…
