Silence, sand, story

"I prided myself on inventing a poetic language accessible some day to all the senses...At first it was an experiment. I wrote silences, I wrote the night. I recorded the inexpressible. I fixed frenzies in their flight."
Arthur Rimbaud, from A Season in Hell. Delirium II. Alchemy of the Word.

"I filled my hands with sand, called it gold, and opened them up to let it slide through. Words were the only truth. If the words were said, then all was done; the rest was the sand that had always been.

If it weren't for always dreaming, living in a perpetual alienation, I could very well call myself a realist - an individual, that is, for whom the outside world is an independent nation. But I prefer not to give myself a name, to be what I am with a certain ambiguity and to be mischievious toward myself in my unpredictability....

So I fabricate myself out of gold and silks, in imagined rooms, on a false stage, with ancient props: a dream created among soft moving lights and invisible music."
Fernando Pessoa, pseudonymously Bernardo Soares, The Book fo Disquietude, entry 226

"The line is made up of an infinite number of points; the plane of an infinite number of lines; the volume of an infinite number of planes; the hypervolume of an infinite number of volumes...No, unquestionably this is not -more geometrico- the best way of beginning my story."
Jorge Luis Borges, The Book of Sand

James Ryang

Silence, sand, story