Stein The Watery Nature


	The Watery Nature (from the forestforthetrees) Charles Stein What went on in the sleep I just came out of? Beast from the roiling sea famously lured by dawn light of word— But the sun was IN the sea— one of the terms of its roilings I’m always stimulated by ideas to tweek language as it has me toward untoward articulations: joints in the word limbs, craggy branches as if the manner of the trees’ unfolded shapes were wind-informed and mind were wind If I pick up my book and read— it is impossible to hazard in advance the consequence for mind and language: I hold the book in abeyance— take out no advance but relish delay Note: The Imp Jar here ruptus interruptus a semen sac confusus in potentia In the Old World did people invent Latin phrases freely when they needed authority of prior speech to bench mind’s latest? When did they stop doing that? Latin wasn’t Lingua Franca simply— when French became that, it was a lateral authority, not a storage shelf of Aevum’s Wisdom. And now that English is everywhere its manner of colonizing earth owns no authority, no otherness at all though replacing Company and King Vanquished peoples speak it everywhere "And if you take the Queen’s shilling" no need to become a linguist sail the seas but never go anywhere never go anywhere Cigar store Indian on porch of querky restaurant in the Catskill mountain town of Ashokan —drive by in the oncoming night after peek at sunset on the reservoir. What do we reserve but Water of registry itself? Water bears the imprint of everything— quietly takes the light becomes the silken bed where moonlight slumbers goes black in mountain shade explodes with dawn as its mists accumulate and journey toward renewed invisibility of air And water was "semen" when semen was thought to bear all herited imprint, accumulated store of human knowings Consider this a discourse concerning the quality of the Watery Nature mentioned by Zosimos and Hermes Trismegistos— that Water was diverted from its turbulence releasing the Light from its roilings so that world resume itself in the spontaneous separation of natures prior to the act of Mind that formed the world Is this where we are going? Is there going to be some summative closure forcing a shape to this disjuncted narrative? Should I quote Zizek from his Schelling book probing Frederick Jameson that every narrative tells how everything "got out of joint" on Money’s say so? The Big Mind God was Money. God always needs Money. Somebody is going to have to have ALL the money. One thing you can say about the poets I’ve inherited is that they offered proof of a radical contingency. Blackburn on the Bowery, say, or WCW in the jam closet But I say Number antedated Money— And the diversion of quantity from contingency —There was your Mystique of which Money was the consequent: the radical divagations of the Water not by its reflective properties or carriage of heritage but by a mind bent on the radical calculation and assessment of everything as every THING cracker jacks spill on the beer-be-sotted ballpark cement rain beats down in a billion severed droplets— Did a god cause that? Did a mind make that? Did history? Sunlight smashing on the waves— the gossamer of light crashing as the waters toss the tiny vessel at the end of the 19th century— Fuck the Titanic and its issuance of a century of ironies— Fuck all ironies! Necessity is earlier than money. A darker hat than prose. Possibility’s—rejoinder. <—Back to theforestforthetrees