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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." "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." "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." James Ryang |
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