|Poet | Writer | Editor||
Trying out some wings for size at The Goods Shed, Claremont, Perth WA where I occasionally work. They tell me the halo is in the mail.
What is the taste of words? If we hold them in our mouths, why can't we taste them? Why can't we feel them? Crunch of consonant, eel of diphthong, ovum of vowel? How can speech - voice - just be air and vibration? Ephemeral, immediate, performative, speech is uttered and then it is gone. It lives in the sound and the moment of its delivery. Conversations can be transposed to memory, but speech is both made and erase in the moment of its utterance. What is left of it?
Is this an auspicious day to begin a blog? I don't know. But if I start consulting horoscopes it will give me the excuse for yet another delay before writing anything. As I type, the gentlemen you see on your left (who I like to think of as my office guardians) are contemplating me with their usual inscrutable calm. I, on the other hand, (trying to write something witty and amusing which will keep your interest alive), am aware of grinding gears, and the sound of rough unpolished thoughts clanking together like rusty buckets in a well.