Four kinds of words, and two scaffolds for Tense.
The Problem:
What does one do when reality tumbles into the mind? The problem is an odd one, because part, if not all of the problem here is that one cannot tell exactly where this real has tumbled from or how it is going or where. What tumbles out are the demands for actions, the debt one owes to someone or something else. A Debt to…society or something beyond? A debt that rumbles in as covers a mind with the ink of inaction, and confusion of being anywhere and everywhere all at once.
Hw does one cope when realities come riding high into the mind demanding one honour the ghost of society as much as the hard reality of dust?
Here Mutual Friends present four distinct stratagems.
Type 1: Reality and writing. One might simply docket and contain that which is burning into the mind. One might therefore wrap it up into the real. That is into a net work or system of possible and responses to those possible. Reality is therefore that which is caught within to art of the cabinet or secretary.
Problems become then ordered in neat heaps, and so open to the world. They become able to be pitched across a mind, and rendered into the kind of world where everything is at hand.
Paper, and heaps of paper are item to be stored in a mind, and docketed in a memory. One therefore will also summarise and record. One makes sure one knows what is going on and when and why an ho. The mutual friend is the master of this docket. That is he is the master of ensuring what tumbles into the mind remains useful for it and through it. The aster of opening put memories as elements to be taken up, spin and used. My mind therefore is not a thing separate from a world, but rather the order device I impose on this stream of perception to build this world. it I the way I access memories and world I spin into.
Writing as it deals with the world that is becomes therefore pitched into order, and the ability to respond.
Type 2
But there is another side to writing. There is a poetic to it – a poetic that takes what it is to order realty, and treats it as a thing in itself. The world of memory remains in the boffin’s power: Harmony Jail is everywhere. The place squeaks with Ghosts of Harmon, and the dad daughter and dead but present son. The mutual friend here is of course merely one of the ghosts: or better he is the living presence of these ghosts. The ghosts as they are alive, and as they might be thought to thrive. (which is why he is the master of using memory).
Here of course there is an odd disjunction. The Mutual friend is not the memory, he is never remembered. As He is shown over then the hose of memory, his thoughts are hidden and are his won The acts in memory in his own way (and therefore ignores its iconic frozen stasis). The Boffins by contrast are keeping the memory pure, keeping it live and real in order that they honour it. Time is therefore split between an ever expanding freezing of the past (which might be said to be productive if one was lazy),and the mutual friend who always inhabits these thought otherwise. The mutual friend is therefore not infected by the poetic of pure memory, even though he is that which others (the boffin only can really be open to as they allow for that poetic to be.
Our mutual friend – the one who silently sets up exchanges with the world is therefore houses neatly in memory, and yet ignores its remembering function. He is in memory (at times) but never purely of it: Or better he is sending it on little journeys of its own. He is therefore the natural inhabitant of the poetic of the past, and yet one how does not treat hat past in poetry or does not honour the poetic at all. He is always wanting to do other things with it: his presence makes that past other than can be held in a memory (as it is alive not remembered into life). We might claim him as our own in kind hearted whimsy and poetics, but that does not mean he is our own
Type Three
There is another way one order times; one might order them in the present, as they are to hand. One might then lock the reality of world into the imperious gaze of a bully Sawyer; a foreman. On might then use the calculations in the present to drive a mind forward. The minds ready and imperious gaze, the watching mind, is therefore enough to demand that others behave as they should and respond as they are being paid for. One can to a degree impel a future in a glance, That is if one knows what is to come, and where it will go. The mind looks done onto what it wants – and has a mastery of a short and delimited spasm in its time.
The problem (which the mutual friend knows so well) is that it the mind itself can have no control of how ha single spasm of time is wrapped up in all other spasms (in my mind and in the mind of others). We might be all together, but then where is that all? And how is that together hung out together, and made real?
This was the problem the Boffins entered, in, the problem of what to d when other times crashes into a mind.
Type 4:
This last problem is however compounded by the poetic so the read or spoken. There is an odd affinity between the labelling and the seeing mind of the movement. One looks as a series of people, and order them to act in a certain way. Ones immediate commands are the one monitors: the Spoken and seen world interface, in the short spasm the problem is as Foucault noted when they leave these spasms - is beyond savage experience the two drift apart and into their own realms). One might therefore be caught up in an exchange in the immediate spoken, but then how Can how does one abstract that exchange? that is what is the poetic of the spoken itself? Dickens answer to this problem is very dark; The poetic of the spoken is the doggerel of greed. The mind which wants to order everything according to its minds eye, will have to abandon writing and the ability to respond to he world as other (and as mutual friend). The world will loose any real order as it might have as it can pull the rug away from every specific ordering. In this place I will impose a series of local orders. Each local orders of the world will be wrapped up in a ballad or verse. These not necessarily holding together. There role is rather simple to capture what is there, what is moving around in reality, and drive it into the vicious maw of the poetic mind.
This oral- poetry (It can barely read) want then to force the world into being it win domain. Or better it understands itself in being the living present, and so The terminal point of the world. It might have a powerful turn for noticing, but all these notices lead back to a number ONE. This number ONE is then open of the world (as a moth is open) in the poetics (and the spoken word). these moments are the moments the world is dragged into number one, and stamped and labelled by it, and into it and thought it.
A Great Big Number One becomes as a me: it is as mine, or will be as a mine. I am then the great point of implosion ; the stamp of selfishness that drives a world onwards.
One steps into the past, therefore as the selfish present, and demands that it accords to what one wants. N doing so one confuses facts and fantasies. The world one is a star f is of course always a part fantasy. Perhaps it is usually all fantasy. Ones mastery of it lies in this fact; The problem that all us Bully Sawyers face, is what to do when others respond to this private world of fantasy, in which we feel we are king. How does one allow others in? Or can one at all?.
Ten se 1;
What then is the two elements of poetic collide? That is what is the poetic of a spoken memory that transects reality into a series of greedy openings (a powerful turn for noticing) and a self which holds them fast, meets with the haunting poetic of memory? Where can it possess that memory?
It essentially of curse cannot. Or better the element of that memory, the mutual friend, which is beyond it, and yet which is inhabiting it as also itself own (it is that which pulls that memories strings), is something that can know nothing of the greedy plotter that is oneself. The self might then embrace memory, and take up the house of a memory as is own – but that house will be full of other ghosts. That is full of element which are forced to remain external to that self. Silent quite memories of what might of been – memories that can be held in time (old men become young again or located in space.
One creates or better raises up the ghost of memory by or very greed to be.
To claim a mind as mine is therefore to risk the other sprits that also inhabit the mind rising up, and demanding other rights, othering memory.
This other might then be unseen by the plotter, but not by those elements those apostles f reality, who give the self its power. They will therefore allow the house of Boffin to be caught in the plotting of the Greedy Wegg, but as they o so they are ware of the hidden sprits everywhere-spirits that light needs to drive out one by one, and yet which can ever go: they can merely be mitigated in kindness, and knowledge that one is doing the right things.
Such an unconscious who of course be a mere fantasy by for the greedy plottings of the Ego…
Tense two:
But what of writing, and the reality (and the poetic it is already a part within) it orders? What does that conjure up, but the what is to come? The Mutual friend has always already leapt up into the future, and the plans of the future: e I ordering what will be, and making that order link back into the what is now: he has therefore always left the sphere of memory and the poetic of plotting, and is elsewhere in another house, in the fantasy, making it real (but a reality always framed in how it is never as one thought). Writing enables the ability to pitch the future in a present.
That is it is the demand that what is can and should split asunder into something new, something odd manifest itself in the gap :The index system one imposes on reality becomes therefore proactive_ It splits a word to be, up, and forces its manifestation upon reality.
However before this sounds needlessly divine – the point here is that this move is framed in a fantasy. One might compel the future to be, but one cannot cloud compel all futures to manifest. One can be effected therefore needs a point of action a local point, which is the point from which the effecting beings. Once this point is, one can of course radiate into a beyond for it; One can move into others and through others: but that is another matter (and demands other spheres, other point of creation).One projects the mind into the sphere to be, the one to come only at a point. I is here of course the self is most useful. It greedy plotting define he point of manifestation (even I it has one power over what t then manifested). The production of the world is an off shoot of the self (but then runs beyond it, and pulls asunder its greeds…)