Date: Fri, 20 Feb 1998 22:34:43 -0800
Subject: MB: cracked mirrors




    The word 'noise' has come to 'mean' for me the excess of phrasing no matter what the medium.
It may not seem that way but where the code or legibility of what is written breaks apart that is
where it becomes closed to reading but yet is the opening moment of information so that "obscure
speech" or silent discourse, that is, meditative thinking loosens the tongue. Understanding then
has proceeded to the extreme limit which "is not only the end of comprehension, its moment of
closure, but also its opening moment, the point at which it illuminates itself against a
background of darkness which it has brought to 'light'" (_The Blanchot Reader_, pg. 112). There,
something is happening, call it music if you will, before consciousness becomes concerned with
figuring out _what_ is happening. Before significance, in the encrypted edge of words, there is
the simplicity of an event where thought is completely disarmed and as such receptive and not
even ensnared in questioning. Thinking then is impoverished and the imagination begins to work
with imagery flowing out of cracked mirrors. Its products can only be the acknowledgment of its
failure to proceed with determination towards an enlightening idea. Clearly we are faced with an
emptied site, with the beginning of something extraordinary where images, words, and music take
up room with an undulating movement of appearance/disappearance infinitely modulated in whatever
tone. Writing, in this situation, has been emptied of the semantic depths of words and hints at a
vast-flowing vigor when it comes to an end with the arrival of a period of discontinuity where
the link between one phrase and another does not follow from the succession of an argumentative
discourse or narrative but rather by moving links that are saltatory and impulsive. Chance
ejaculates each phrase. What I have called a "century of ruins" to set some 'goal' and is perhaps
best called "infinite ruins" is a hypertextual network transmitting the interference of images,
words, and music where each piece, or flow has no necessary linkage to another. One can start
receiving wherever a random generator falls. Think of many of my posts put them in any order and
they make 'sense' outside the context of our conversation here and elsewhere and they are more or
less a variation on nothing, the vibrancy of a blocked imagination operating with the foresight
of withdrawn, recollected languages. Their ownmost poverty then, drives their propensity to
curve, to constantly misread each other and make a sort of complex turbulence or labyrinth
flowing with the inky, digital honey of Persephone's curls. She drives me mad what can I say?
However, in spite of their self-regulation and pathos of distance they do have a certain
consonance with what 'others' post just like your last post Edward which I enjoyed much. The net
is cast with foresight and breadth no matter what anybody says and the channels are always open
no matter what filters are used since after all there is tuning over time no matter what the
level of noise.

Kblah!
Ari