Tuesday, April 11, 2017


The dissolution of words into formlessness. Suddenly as the chains of association cease, and the words cease to seize hold I tunnel into fathomless tracts of wordlessness. In the space where memory, feeling, experience and the void are densely huddled the words fly helter skelter, hither and thither. A signifying causality unravels here, an inflected vowel is disembowelled on my tongue there. And suddenly, in the place of the oblong of a self contained word encased in a coherent sentence is the lumpy, astringent, tasteless unreality of the very words that hitherto cohered. The tongue thickens, freezes, grows gravid with inexpressible larvae that instead, disintegrate into shards of massed emotion experienced more as a crushing weight .

Intermittently a disembodied weightlessness is inveigled . As though the non feeling, which is a prelude to non being, an adjunct to the uneffaced nothingness of consciousness, lifts its ponderous gravity and affords a glimpse of pure sensation, where sound is soundlessness, where colour is not  fixed delineations of singularly distinct specks of varied brightness but too much light, an inrushing that makes of light itself a reality all its own and a reality that induces its own unreality. And all of a sudden the ceaseless barrage of words are immaterial. Or that utterance itself is inconsequential. Nothing, it seems, can enclose this nothingness except a mind emptied, a consciousness evacuated, inhabiting the very nothing of which it is no much in thrall yet alternately experienced as unutterable terror.

There is an inarticulacy where words are insufficient , or where abjection instils an enervation wherein the communicable is an irrelevancy. This interlude of pure being, which is , cannot be other than what it is requires no semantic overlaying. No chain of interlinked or conjoined signifiers or even the putative gibberish of mnemonics pouring in from everywhere and dispersed as gobbledygook can encapsulate this infinitesimal fraction of time, a moment , by any definition, miniscule in any life but momentous. Entropy as a void but also energy, prickling with its own inklings, suffused with a dimensionless stillness yet simultaneously an expansive possibility suspended in an interplay of contraction and billowing while held aloft , cast adrift in its own self sufficiency. Words then, either drift away in imperceptible flurries, indistinct pinpricks receding through space or sink, sinking into the bottomless precipice of pre language.

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