from Dead Letter Game

I no longer use source text because I trust neither source nor text. A source is too slippery, volatile. You never know where the next one will burst forth, and there’s no telling who has put in before you. Text, that seeming neutral, blankets an old regime. You can almost hear it like a chorus of giddy and wine-drunk cherubs: we love you, they mutter dolefully, and the lie clings to every weave.

This near-diabolical reliance on metaphor pretty much makes the case. There must be better ways to organize (then pressurize) the activity of, what, wordcraft? Not quite, but at least to reconvene on the other side of this experiment, active since Mallarmé, by which the materiality of signs has come to stand in for the kinderwurk of an able if unschooled group of aspirants.

The world today at all of its fixed portals (ways and means of multiple, numbered worlds) communicates its losses sometimes faster than the losses themselves. The cry of the burn victim in the aftermath of bombing rebounds absurdly, strikes distant listeners as an afterthought. Perception is key, and worlds collide, disintegrate, recombine in the narrow spaces between one’s ordinary bouts with vision.

So, we can willfully buy into this faster-than-light self-immolation (a body, so to speak, turning inside out in an effort to catch itself winking) or we can opt out. I’m not sure this is a real choice, but there are commitments to be made all the same.