Communication or Masturbation?

2 09 2012

Worlds layers of perspective ad experience scorch or caress the tongue. A canyon of possible linguistic combinations lie in anticipation. What is it that mixes sounds ands feelings into stories? And who are we to filter the flow or to force a river of communication? Can Communication nap like a cat? Resting so that we can be.  And maybe when Communication awakes, it will not strive to be beautiful or reasonable—just a fitful explosion of experience may cascade over our bodies—a tremble, a tingle, a seizure of the soul of pure expression and being. A volcano of “voom”—an inexplicable incredibly excitable energy of living.

In sleep, may deceitful communication dance and flaunt its hollow manipulative words so the awakened body will believe that communication is a nightmare—locked away in the darkness. Morning w[o/a]ndering feet prove we are refracted light in motion meandering through material. To touch (and feel) is the finality of the corporal experience. Paper and pen are murderous tools of experience’s purity. Pointing, dotting, carrying ink and symbols across a space to share something, which can never be experienced by another. Yes, ink and language are treason to personal moments.  I’m frustrated. We (all those who breath) cannot all access language.  Stutter, stutter, stutter—the slut of sound. This is literary masturbation. Yet, I must write.

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