Expect The Unexpected Next Year
December 27th 2009 14:59
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Category: No Category
As I contemplate the writing I have done over last year, I have become intrigued by the complexity of the connections I have made, both on and off the virtual page. I'd like to keep things moving in unpredictable ways, so that I never get bogged down in one systematic way of thinking.
Each year represents 365 days of events so complex that we vainly attempt to categorise, connect and control their representation in ways that are universally cogent with each other. It takes a lot of courage to wade out of essentialising, rationalising discourses and connect to your own inner, intuitive connections - the ones that no newspaper, song or would-be-Meaningful narrative can detract from.
The consumption of texts only enhances your wildly unique, underratedly genius mental concoctions. Your ingenuity cannot be problematic, marred or erased.
Today I have absorbed some pages of two non-virtual (the so-called tangible) books, Cinema 1 - The Movement-Image by Gilles Deleuze and Miss Smilla's Feeling For Snow by Peter Hoeg. (I just realised that neither was originally published in English.) I find that one attunes more more deeply to the other - going to-and-fro helps me preserve the sanctity of both texts through the enthusiastic subversion of my inclination towards directing my attentions away from a single source of stimulation.
I try to look at life kaleidoscopically.
I do find most of the texts that I have to deal with (take an interest in) dry and mono-rousing. Searching for the perfect complement is too stressful, so I just pick up whatever is nearest to me (usually a book recently discarded in distaste after a brief but intense scanning of its contents) and look for the most intriguing connections that it can inspire me to make in the other text.
It calms me to scatter my mind, because focusing on something unsatisfying is the surest way to build up immunity to dissatisfaction.
How about you?
What are you reading?
How? Why?
Each year represents 365 days of events so complex that we vainly attempt to categorise, connect and control their representation in ways that are universally cogent with each other. It takes a lot of courage to wade out of essentialising, rationalising discourses and connect to your own inner, intuitive connections - the ones that no newspaper, song or would-be-Meaningful narrative can detract from.
The consumption of texts only enhances your wildly unique, underratedly genius mental concoctions. Your ingenuity cannot be problematic, marred or erased.
Today I have absorbed some pages of two non-virtual (the so-called tangible) books, Cinema 1 - The Movement-Image by Gilles Deleuze and Miss Smilla's Feeling For Snow by Peter Hoeg. (I just realised that neither was originally published in English.) I find that one attunes more more deeply to the other - going to-and-fro helps me preserve the sanctity of both texts through the enthusiastic subversion of my inclination towards directing my attentions away from a single source of stimulation.
I try to look at life kaleidoscopically.
I do find most of the texts that I have to deal with (take an interest in) dry and mono-rousing. Searching for the perfect complement is too stressful, so I just pick up whatever is nearest to me (usually a book recently discarded in distaste after a brief but intense scanning of its contents) and look for the most intriguing connections that it can inspire me to make in the other text.
It calms me to scatter my mind, because focusing on something unsatisfying is the surest way to build up immunity to dissatisfaction.
How about you?
What are you reading?
How? Why?
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