my previous few posts have all been focused on Jeju & Korea, but i feel it is time to revive the Wallace Variations. here i am in my best Wallace mode, trying, in more ways than one, to get to the core of a matter, playfully.
asides on the ordure of july
as it is, a sort of order barricades us outside ourselves,
a sort of ordure, smelling of a barricade that blocks
us from ourselves, from knowing what it is we are
: it is uncertainty, this order of ordure that takes our shape,
& must take shape of itself or from a portion of itself : us.
the autonomous portion of uncertainty that due
to it being of uncertainness wants to take a shape,
so as to behave as a certain shape, to manifest
out of a certainty that there are things we are
uncertain of in a universe of uncertain qualities.
& so it was, in the humid entity of a july day,
he felt fingers fold around his shoulder,
the humid fingers of that july day, had taken form,
then touched him whilst his back was turned,
so he would know that the weather had a form
beyond the effect it takes upon his pores, the quality
of sweat given a certain quality above the merest sensation
of skin : that sensation caricatured as fingers folding,
curling & folding over turned backs on a july day
that has reality because the mind has turned it so.
what otherwise of worth considering apart
from turned backs on a humid july day, master of words?
should we consider other emptinesses : in parts, without parts?
of everything as formless impossibility of touch,
what then of the brigade of passions man combines in himself?
