Word and Text
(Jan 30/06)
The mind, the mind’s eye, creates, or rather recreates, the written word, the word(s) on the page, or screen or template. Perhaps not recreate, but create for the first time, the one and only time, the time of the reading of the written word on the page or screen or template. A template can be whatever one wishes, a page, a leaf, a computer screen, a blank slate, a tabala rasa. The words, their meanings and connections to us, the reader, are there long before the ink, or laser, scribes them onto the page, the screen or the template. They exist independent of their being there, anywhere, on page, screen or template. The eye, the mind’s eye, brings with it, carries in the satchel of it’s ‘this’, whatever is to be transcribed, brought to or into the written word(s) on the page, the screen or the template. Nothing exists, nothing is there on the page, nothing but what we, the mind’s eye, bring to the page, the word, the text, the screen image or template. Unconscious wishes and fantasies transcribed for the first, second, millionth time onto the page, the blank page, template or screen, rebuses from the previous day, week, hundred years. Images, both faint and aglow, of things and events and past memories and traumas, happy times, sad times, times that have yet to be or will be.
The mind, the mind’s eye, creates, or rather recreates, the written word, the word(s) on the page, or screen or template. Perhaps not recreate, but create for the first time, the one and only time, the time of the reading of the written word on the page or screen or template. A template can be whatever one wishes, a page, a leaf, a computer screen, a blank slate, a tabala rasa. The words, their meanings and connections to us, the reader, are there long before the ink, or laser, scribes them onto the page, the screen or the template. They exist independent of their being there, anywhere, on page, screen or template. The eye, the mind’s eye, brings with it, carries in the satchel of it’s ‘this’, whatever is to be transcribed, brought to or into the written word(s) on the page, the screen or the template. Nothing exists, nothing is there on the page, nothing but what we, the mind’s eye, bring to the page, the word, the text, the screen image or template. Unconscious wishes and fantasies transcribed for the first, second, millionth time onto the page, the blank page, template or screen, rebuses from the previous day, week, hundred years. Images, both faint and aglow, of things and events and past memories and traumas, happy times, sad times, times that have yet to be or will be.
The written word, the text, does not exist outside the transcription of the word(s), the words and text into the ‘this’, the ‘this is me’, the mind’s eye. Each reading, each new reading, is the first, the one reading, the only reading. In this manner there is no division, no difference between deconstruction and reconstruction, they are one side of the same coin, a one-dimensional coin, a flat tropism, a singularity of text, word, meaning and reading, the ‘what is read’. Each word, sentence, hieroglyphic, trope, meaning, inscription, are the first, the one, the first reading, meaning, trope, the word as whiteness and plane. There is no difference between the whiteness of the page, or screen, or template, and the word inscribed, or brought to, carried into, the whiteness, the wordless plane. As suggested in a previous posting, there is no present, a now, an ‘in the moment’, but only a past, a ‘was once’, a future projected from the lamp of the past, projected onto the blank whiteness of the screen, the text, the word, the first word(s). The future in the past tense, the moment, the now, the present, a lacuna, a blank white page yet to be filled, yet to be transcribed from memory.
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