I realized last night that I stopped writing (and switched to moving images and sound) because I don’t trust language anymore. LOVE SOUNDS, which is all about words and affect, chronicles that. Even at its best. Even at my best. So what. Such an overabundance of words now. An endless stream. And what does it ever change or solve? Still nothing is clear. Nothing is different. Nothing is sure. Nothing and no one is more precious to anyone. Who remembers what they’ve said. What they’ve heard. Who they purported to love. What they promised. Writing can’t live in writing. Or I can’t. So I put the words somewhere else now. Put them in/to images to create a chiaroscuro. I focus on the content of arrangement; the slow build of duration and process. The “placement of articulation,” as Fred Moten put it last night in his talk.

Crossposted with Love Dog.