What does it mean to write?
What will seem like obscured meandering aimlessly will, ideally, encapsulate a portion of the violent flows concealed under language. Like any great free-write meeting, its writing will disturb the assumptions about language that are instilled in us since our most memorable examinations with language — when good natured instructors showed us how to utilize periods and what words go with which different ones.
This etymological practice has saturated any suitable opening, leaving its follow in the manner in which we come to see the world and whatever might exist past it. Indeed, even my stating of that last thought adheres to a bunch of guidelines that cause free words to converge into a mixture that is intended to seem OK. It is absolutely impossible for me to know whether it does, and I simply have to have unbridled religiosity that some mysterious other "gets" me.
Language, in this practice, is a slender film that isolates two words that don't have a place together: ocean and sky. The post-structuralist turn makes us aware of how language functions; signs slide unendingly across any tough significance, above profound waters.
Presently we're talking; presently we are sensitive to how writing is more similar to suffocating in this sea, as fruitlessly snatching for air. Writing isn't like swimming, and journalists shouldn't work on swimming. Writing is more similar to being pulled under by the flows that movement on a deeper level, imperceptible yet all-deciding. There must be something else to this, however, more to development.
At this moment, I can't track down a point to expound on. I can't track down an illustration to lock onto. I can't find an ongoing undertakings title to use as framework to give my article design and importance.
Everything I can offer is an uninspiring meta-critique about what it seems like to uniquely write.
I feel like that, in itself, is an analogy. I'm envisioning myself writing these words like cutting aimlessly in a dull room. The main way for me to precisely explain in essence developments and those shivering impressions of electrical flows streaming all through our bodies is to show the way that language isn't organized flawlessly. Language is a dance that we are completely sensitive to and act in individual developments yet recognizable rhythms.
I can depict the sensation of late innovation through language by portraying cloudy flows that at long last break the surface. The signs that make up language stream under texts, similar to ebbs and flows kissing the sea depths' — however can likewise emit into waves that uncover language's actual control over us. We are drifting bodies entering a period of persistent social speed increase — representative developments with wild speed.
Perhaps to write is to have confidence that these flows will send us crashing against different bodies. Perhaps it is the possibility that these tranquil occasions of heavenly impact can make swells on the outer layer of language that movement way farther than the farthest degree we can at any point envision going.
Organization possibly becomes conceivable when you hit the dance floor with each other, or with numerous others, yet entirely never alone. I envision this dance through innateness. Powers above and underneath the sea's surface blend. The two powers oppose limits and dodge definition. Divine choppiness is where the grand powers of nature vanquish and give up space.
There may generally be this deferral between when circumstances around us change and when we at last register them, yet we stay adjusted. It's like the way in which you never completely value the little associations that fill your heart with joy until after you bid farewell. Yet at the same time that grin endures long afterward.
For my purposes, at any rate, writing is a relationship with an everlasting other who we love personally. It is the world's most prominent romantic tale.
