Outtakes

finding some notes that didn't make it into THIRD EAR...

Handwritten notes on yellow pads, exactly the kind of thing that I have (on more than one occasion) managed to misplace and forget about entirely.

Here’s something dated 9 Feb 2022:

Middle of night composing of an essay (or Twitter thread) about Twitter, the weird form of communication it seems to be, at least sometimes.

I blurt, therefore I am.

The inquiries: silly, sublime, provocative, transparently banal.

Are you out there? Can I get followers?

If you hear me, I exist?

The inability to edit (only to delete, unless someone else has taken a screenshot, preserving you anyway) means that the form is designed to force you (or at least enable you) to blurt. Speed is the point, being rushed, urgent, even thoughtless. Reactive.

Then there is the “TL cleanse,” to purposefully re-frame the world. E.g.: please send me cat pics.

Here’s something dated 15 Feb:

Listening to the owl last night, waking up to the gleaming golden moon at the horizon, breathing into my restless heart this morning.

Wanting to allow this book to speak to me, to show itself to me. The beginning keeps starting over, as if it has so many sounds all clamoring to be heard. Page by page? Space by space?

Finished listening last night to the audio files for SOL [The Speed of Light], my own voice braided with the two others, making me weep. All the ways I knew even then about epigenetic long before it had a name or scientific champions. The sorrows and the songs. I bow down to what I already knew and found my own names for.

Like the singing of whales before the microphones found them.