[The initial subject here is Finnegans Wake. For 'allways,' read both 'always' and 'in all ways/directions.']
rifling through the wake as through a burnt-out memory attic or grandmother's vault or safe or the home of a deposed king; or walking slowly hallway by allways through a museum corridors opening up to exhibitionisms aplenty. it gets into your wording like riddley but you knew that. it makes old ideas calamitatiously anew. noob i mean newborn. it makes ideas borne-again i mean to say you have to hold them. what but what. what but you open up a book and it is a consciousness machine. you are a consciousness machining it is a nother mechanism attaches to you inside outwise. human brains and literary minds interoperate. genre is part of the API of literary mind-melting i mean melding i mean to say magic exists and its language is Once Upon a Trembling.
hard to pull back from that oceanic language unnerving. to bricks and periods and colons. pull back the view the camera widens the words walking about lose focus dissolve into the sea again. up close you see the bacterial music of it. exactings at the paleoatomic scale old notions new forms. the formlessness that total surrender permits. what words are for is giving structure to time that might otherwise pass inchoate in the interstices i mean through the bodies i mean among the desires of human separated beings. strange estrangement. i mean i mean you are writing your way into a state of alltogetherness ideally. but what if you cant.
we all know magic exists because it scares us. i mean to say the fear is real and what else can there be. ??? question but what else must be in order for this life to be this life, to match our expectings? fearfully we make fire. fearful make words for fire, watch burn, we wish for words for the working of fire into the cells of living things; wish for a straightforwardness of cause to accommodate our infinitude of question. i mean we'd like to think we wouldn't ask questions have no answers.
fear of magic is fair, is fireful speech. our trembling invests the words with potent power. precisely the confliction of what can not possibly against the collapsing layered border surface of what we clearly perceive clearly. that interspace, that innerworld. thereby we come to believe in what we make. magic is there because there is magic because we made that place for that thing. i was saying last night able to isn't the premise for doing. doing is the journey to being able to able being. i mean to say the acting that is the body the world is not the consequence of the being that is readiness. we are ready when we act in becoming. you can't readily move you movingly be. you are made not was. you are making. magic is maybe the realizing of the act that hides behind being. it is to see be as do. but if that seeing is magic, if the saying is its operation Magical Words i mean to say if the spellcasting is to see the die has been cast, if it is Acceptance --
i think magic is true living, an end to self-deception. but then the self is the deception. but to see yourself as merely seeing, to feel the presence i mean the presents i mean the presentness i mean that-the-present-is-all-that-allways-is; to do as totality, in authentic presentness -- there you miraculously are. there you truly are. true things are miraculous. nothing is miraculous. see but both ways are; both are ways of being; allways find every expression.
no but every language is constraint. yes but every language is pattern which is expansion. pattern multiplies what it orders; pattern is collision. you think you are repeating as if an old idea. no but you are yes, you yes are, yes you are singing the oldest song. magical is taking up old songs as responsibilities laid by. merely to allways be everything. please it is only chance. there is no shame in a universe in which all things are all things and nothing can be held against anything because everything being is allways acting. the one thing that can fill up the universe and deny nothing is Song.
