Cikara

il y a 10 mois

Suspended tension, the weight of silence, the paradox of how much it expect from sound. A pose. A breath. And... And then finish thought. Maybe, but is not or never knowing exactly. Anticipated nothing. Outerances are a way of saying intention. The secret of both. You and I, complicit of semantic failure. The silent space between us allows for unexpressed desires. A conversation meant through omission. The implicit sense of fragmented segments, textual gaps, and already failing text. Of unwriteable things. Of a disruption. Of a mouth. Of an opening. Of a possibility. Of turning limitations into freedoms. Of things felt but left. Of advice for rhythm. Of stretching the speaking. Of stretching the endings of the process of preventing identification of a lack of denomination. Of the process. Of preventing Identification of a luck. Of the nomination. Of the unmentionable, which keeps preserving. Of a figure. Of silence. Of a cursive, of a recursive discontinuity, of the thickness of time. Of the space. Which expands. And the weight