A Marginal Correspondence with Methods and Black Squares

  I’m not a whole person.  You’re not a whole person.  If I was a whole, I would just be sitting in a corner being whole.        Lacan
I and Me are always too earnestly in conversation with one another: how could it be endured, if there were not a friend?     Nietzsche
Who determines where the margins are?  Those who structure language?  Discursive formations?

To my mind, there is nothing marginal about this correspondence.  Perhaps in the greater sense of a working though of philosophy, this correspondence is marginal, irrelevant, illogical, et cetera.

I enjoy the correspondences we share for as much as we miss each other’s meanings, there are visible connections, unspoken understandings.  You put my sentence (that I “revived, borrowed, modified – whatever”) in the centre of your work in this post.  The action lies in the movement between the margins and the centre like a shuttlecock weaving a tapestry.

We share the books from our own private libraries.  There is no greater joy for humans – we, humans – then to forget our selves – to take one step outside ourselves – and share our hard-won, singular knowledges with others of a like mind who understand the tragic nature of being-[human]: repitition as an affirmation of the joy in creating, becoming-nonhuman: the delight in art and beauty, in discovering, acting out of curiousity – just plain, old curiosity.

Those who look for the profound often get a squinty, screwed up look on their face.  They miss the beauty right in front of them.  They are poseurs.  I do not mean to impose my ideas nor I do not want to expose the truth.  I have no intensions of being “revelatory.”  My spelling sucks.

My idea of the Enlightenment project is different.  I delight in the “X” the experiment; not the long faces, the gravity of philosophy and the so-called ‘human sciences.’  I do not believe in us, humans, but in we, friends.  It is for those I am emale launches the question: where will we find the words riven in the side (or margin) of the earth’s womb?  Right down to the smallest leaf.


One thought on “A Marginal Correspondence with Methods and Black Squares

  1. Dear Ecko,

    I’m with you. Wholeheartedly. Wholemindedly.

    Your margins, our margins, are serving as catalysts, vitalizers, the fuel of many of my thoughts, the content of many subjective time capsules.

    Can I say that I am emale and Methods and Black Squares try to laugh at Death?

    It requires courage, though. It is frightening sometimes. I marginalize those already margins for not getting ourselves too seriously, for not provoking too much. But it’s nothing but a style.

    I don’t write for fun (Do you?) although joy is what I have from writing and corresponding. I write to get rid of this sorrow, this hole created after days of not writing. It is not the need for a feedback, nor for a recognition. It is not the quest for truth – God forbid. It is certainly not for fun that I write.

    I write because I want to try and see.

    [And it’s good having you around in this journey, friend.

    Friendship has nothing to do with imposing ideas, or holding for the truth.

    And your phrase – that which I placed in the center of many of my posts – you shouldn’t underestimate it – it made someone else happy. And if you wish to make nothing out of it – be my guest. I feel that what you said, probably en passant, certainly hidden inside a margin, is one of the most revealing sentences that I’ve heard – a moment of enlightenment without any project behind it, for it is the ultimate laughter at Death]

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