Erik (eriktrips) wrote,

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and then there are the times that writing is circumscribed by fear. as though i do not want to go into it for knowing something might come out of it that i don't like. and yet what usually comes of it is even if surprising relatively rarely upsetting indeed even gratifying.

in undergrad the idea of the paradox of transitions was presented to me as the situation in which one projects one's current circumstances into a future which is to be brought about by a given change which will fundamentally alter the circumstances themselves. the upshot is that the conclusions you reach regarding what this future will consist of will be all wrong because you are projecting circumstances that will no longer obtain should this change come about.


writing is something like that. at the front end of it i am afraid because something is bugging me else why would i write why does anyone write except that something is bugging them and writing when something is bugging you allows that something a voice and this is dangerous.

but what i can't comprehend in the beginning is that writing tends to render the something bugging something else something projected held at arm's length and rationalized or at least rationalized to the extent that one's style of writing allows it to be.

which brings us to the question of how rational is writing and how can writing be true to the irrational and i don't know the answers to these questions i only know that there is fear of bringing something untoward to light and that writing tends to make it less untoward and that causes me to wonder if writing isn't a kind of betrayal of the untowardness of the not-yet-narrated.

always i try to hover between one and the other that is between the domesticating gesture of telling and the revelatory gesture of gesturing. the odd thing is that i try to do this hovering in writing itself which is the work of domestication except perhaps in poetry. and in near poetry. and in that which approximates nonlinearity all in a medium where all unfolds along a line.

i'm getting off track here. what i mean to say is that i approach writing obsessively as one who must write but who fears what that writing will bring about either in itself or in the state of the one who writes as though something will come into being that i cannot abide but which sits there obstinately as the truth itself in all its linear irrefutability.

which brings us round again to the same sorts of questions except this time one sees a tension between the insistence of the irrational and the righteousness of the rational and both are tyrannical in their own right which brings one to the question of whether to say anything at all.

but one says and one says compulsively and sometimes in the saying there is a little relief.

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