He was, he declared, a “Realometer,” working his feet “downward through the mud and slush of opinion, and prejudice and tradition, and delusion, and appearance … to a hard bottom.” Quote from:
Realometer writes: text-as-text is a necessary fiction, an unreal principal of reality. Magnetism-as-magnetism is not possible.
What is an archive? (Grief) What is a book? (Trespass)
A book s where breath s seal is broken, breaks. Realometer writes what he has read on page 47 of Erín Moure: O Cadoiro – Poems. Toronto: House of Anansi Press, 2007. (more…)
Realometer reads Kafka. In his diary Kafka writes about two hands. One hands writes down, what he sees under ruins; the other hand defends himself against the fate. So the self is spanned between two hands, which serve as borders or interfaces. One creates a border against the world, the other writes down what the self is seeing.
Realometer seems to be aware, that his existence relies on a fictious assumption: That a text as text is possible. This assumption is questioned by an image of an octopus. How to deal with a (deep) sea monster? Searching for words which allow him to integrate an image of an octopus into a text, Realo finds a webpage delivering words and another image. And another unit thinks about bondage and its relations to DNS and shamanism.
is about the romanticism of reason. Realometer looks for fictitious momenta in the debate on climate shift. Realometer likes reasoning.
Realometer posits itself between fiction and reality. Realometer operates in the inbetweenness of words about words and words about non-words. Realometer measures how much words are needed in to qualify something a reality.
Ich möchte das Land denken.
Je voudrais penser, imaginer le pays,
faits, facts, faites de la terrre et des idées.
Women, men, children,
I have seen, rarely spoken,
but read about them.
So I scanned their appearances
according to the programm,
which others have set up,
nahm sie entsprechend dem Programm wahr,
das in mir läuft und nun passieren lässt:
le paysage,
das Land,
die Landschaft,
le pays, land.
No land fits
to the shadows,
planning casts.
Nomadising
no law, Gesetz,
setzend, verlangend :
nomadiser le verbe,
le pays,
les verbes pour designer
le pays,
la terre,
les idées:
meine Wanderungen,
migrations of words,
migrations des verbes,
mes verbes dans les paysages de moi-même,
law, love.
Jude Law.
“Do you want to be a dog or a guitar?” she said.
And she thought of the cradled arm, the embrace of wood and hollow, the curves that fit, snug, from a long intimacy.
She thought of the knees, bony below the faded jeans, she thought of the clutch at the crotch, the seeming endlessness of dark.
She thought of the thigh, and the nails, and the hair.
She thought of the strings of heart and catgut, of nylon preservative, she thought of the shudder of sound through skin.
Re verb, she thought, a doing word.
To hold, to be held.
“A dog,” she said, “can only be adoration, a red tongue, brown eyes at my feet.”
She thought of saliva.
She swallowed.
She thought of all the words:
Strum and fret and pluck.
Twang, she thought.
“Yes,” she said. “I want.”
Sampurna Chattarji