Tuesday, February 16, 2016

Before our maker space...


"Subjectivity is objective." 
Woody Allen.

I am stepping perilously close to the edge of reason.

What have I gone and done now?


"I have only gone and made an object of myself."

As soon as I give a sign of existence.

Nay, before I give a sign, I am already objectified.

  • the one so hoped for.
  • the vermin.
  • the Prince 
  • the heir.
  • the mistake.
  • the loved one.

Darn! It's too late.

I am here now.

 "I have gone and made an object of myself!"

You'll forgive me but it ain't all my own doing.

You are responsible for my disappearance.

You are killing me while giving this IT life.

As soon as I get this down on the page, I go and disappear.

You can't know me.

I hastily reread all that I have written.

I no longer recognise myself.

Who is this writer and why won't the bastard leave me alone?

 "He's only gone and made an object of me."

So while I may object, I am now a subject of my own study.


I go back and read what I have written.

I don't recognise myself.

I never used to write like this.

No this is a lie.

I never used to write so much like this.

I blame tragedy.

I blame sadness.

I blame the others.

I retraced my step this morning.

It was Jesse Stommel's fault.

Though I admit that he was not at fault.

He left an object lying around.

How careless of him!



OK.

It is my fault.

How was he to know that I would read the bloody tweet.

It is not my fault.

How was I to know that it would somehow make me bloody think.

So I thought, stupidly aloud.

"I went and made an object of myself...again...twice..."Nay! Three times!"







That really set the cat amongst the pigeons.

Jesse Stommel replied...more than once.

Darn him!







 Then Sarah Honeychurch ploughed in...twice!



 


So.

I wake up this morning with matter to make my head ache.


I retrace steps and tweet what seems relevant back to Jesse and the others.

All of this is Beyond Me.




All of this is Beyond the MeMe.


All of this is Beyond Us.


I note with surprise the books that I am reading at the moment:

Thomas Picketty. Capital in the 21st Century.

Bell Hooks. All about Love

How did that come about?

Surely those are not the sort of books I read!

I don't recognise myself.

I note an article to return to:

Carl Ratner. Subjectivity and Objectivity in Qualitative Methodology

All this, I suspect, is about love (to write on), and the poetry of our futile science.

A final note perhaps?




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11 comments:

  1. tellioFebruary 16, 2016 at 4:02 AM

    I am listening to a book about mushrooms. I am in the barn. A lamb has died. I flag down a bus to the end of the universe. It says, "No Service. Ever."

    ReplyDelete
  2. tellioFebruary 16, 2016 at 4:03 AM

    [Taken from a comment I made in Sarah's blog about irises.]


    The elder folk in my part of Kentucky call irises “flags”.

    The rhizome part of the poem is like most poetry–growing underneath, part of a larger mat of culture and history and genes. The part we see is just the showy part of plant, the flag, “waving not drowning”. Instead of rhizopoems, perhaps we should call these “Rhymezomes”?


    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. sensor63February 16, 2016 at 4:49 AM

      Putting on a brave face on things while our hearts weep.

      Delete
  3. tellioFebruary 16, 2016 at 4:04 AM

    It is beyond wet.
    Suffused and oozing
    Mucking around
    in the barn
    I dream of flags
    and sward
    and kites.
    My head is warmed
    Inside
    &
    Out
    The lamb's nose
    is very cold.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. sensor63February 16, 2016 at 4:44 AM

      You remind me of rainbows.
      http://tachesdesens.blogspot.fr/2014/02/suspend-disbelief-rhizo14.html

      And the full catastrophe.
      http://zeega.com/162387

      It's all the same fire.

      Thank you.

      Delete
  4. tellioFebruary 16, 2016 at 5:55 AM

    Theory is more disappointing than reality, but it sure hurts less.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Angela BFebruary 16, 2016 at 9:16 AM

    The biggest mystery of the universe that have scientists scrambling for explanation is the missing mass of the universe, in my humble opinion really badly named as dark matter. I think that as understanding emerges of the physics of the forces of the universe, they will actually be describing love. They will need poets & lovers for science and it will be a big leap in where we go awry with factioning our disciplines & thinking. We made poetry an artful expression and not a tool of inquiry - but what if it turns out to be the best way to explore the universe?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Angela BFebruary 16, 2016 at 9:19 AM

      Context of my comment above....this came from a day hearing a scientist dismiss 'flowery language' when talking about learning.

      Learning is definitely all about flowers?

      Delete
    2. SarahHFebruary 17, 2016 at 10:42 AM

      Along the way, take time to smell the flowers?

      Delete
    3. SarahHFebruary 17, 2016 at 10:43 AM

      Maybe music is the answer? https://theconversation.com/gravitational-waves-add-a-new-note-to-our-musical-universe-54709

      Delete

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