What is the point of (p)Art (III)?

Part 1 & Part 2

The triumph of Something

over the same, over Nothing

 

inasmuch

 

has to be able to withstand

not one

but two distinct sets of contradiction

 

which is really unfortunate as far as concerns

the fate of the world;

 

the first: internal and thus a little tedious

failure on its own terms

the reproduction of the same or slightly less

from a differently desired outcome

the site of the worrier who

aware, awake, at least, has thus not completely

lost sight of Something

and finds the difference somewhat telling, all the same;

 

the second, however, is much more serious

much more catastrophic

external to the work of Art

though translatable, making use of similar signs

but in a very different order

for where Art undoes to create

War irrevocably outdoes the innocent contradictions many times over

done only for destruction

 

the site of the warrior, to lessen presence

put things to sleep

 

the triumph of Nothing

over the same, over Something

What is the meaning of hopelessness?

Was it								or is it that now
when it was							– now, that it
at first								is much less –
in presence							it has itself 
already								become
too much						       not enough
because							        because
all that could ever be			                all that is
for there –							there for
against it –							instead –
was never							against it – has
going to be							in-stead become 
enough?						       too much?

something that had always let me get away with something better
than what-ever had so far
for some Reason
for some reason now
is not working anymore

is this the sign of the floor
after a flawed start?

or is “the floor” in any final sense
always already signal
of a flaw running much deeper than just that?

What even is the point of Art?

In the des-pair of life,

that states how: a putting-

together always starts

with a pulling-apart;

and how: building up

must shrink prior sizes

before a shared horizon;

whilst: each acceleration

cannot but equally hasten

all rituals of departure;

 

The work of Art

comes as a sort of control

against the loss of more

in ex-change

than that which,

of the same,

might thence be gained;

 

is a sort of life-line

mediating,

moment-by-moment,

 possibility and necessity,

moment-to-moment

obliging

differences in touch;

 

labour of

meeting

past and future

whilst giving

no time

to the rhetoric of tyrants

nor space

for the imagination of the prophet.

 

In the des-pair of life

The work of Art

is not so much aesthetics

or their judgement

(though these do add a certain colour)

but rather the attention and creativity

needed

to look after the Flame of existence.

two-in-one two

the difference between

resignation

and re-signation

 

or between

a performative rejection

and an even-ing acceptance

 

is the same as that

which lies between

truth-and-lies and the truth of the lie:

the lie of the truth;

 

such as the difference between

being so committed to identity as

to fall with it wherever it falls

and hyphenating the possibility of different commitments,

leaping over gaps;

 

between

It

and the re-main-ing;

 

between

an empire

and a world;

 

it is the difference of

saying yes to No

and no to Yes;

 

between

certainty

and un-certainty.

 

differences that change nothing

except everything,

of course

 

where it might be accepted that both

everything and nothing share too much

to be said as

one-thing-or-the-other

 

 

Ossídio Reading and Thinking on Youtube

Introduction I to the Circus

The Writers’ Circus is an evolved, ambulant, asymmetric Circle of writers which, endowed with the virtue of being able to exist in more places than one, does not really exist anywhere, at all. The show, to be put on here by us, the aforementioned writers, will not start and finish within a clearly defined border, inside a tent of dreaming cut off from the externalities of a so-called proper or real experience; our event is not an escape, although escapology is something that inevitably interests us; no, the performance at the heart of our circus concerns the limits of the possibility of the limit itself – more specifically, the hypothesis that, on the other side of this ejaculatory space of dream-like enactment and clown-like repetition, Everything is not to be found (again) unaffected, but the very opposite.

Yet, do not make the mistake of mistaking us for some collective of over-matured nihilists… that again would imply a stasis too territorialised against the lack of both origin and destination preoccupying our (every) trans-mission. We are something more a-where than nihilism. Our -mission is to unearth a version of Nothing unstrangled by the hypertextual claims to and about meaning that, at any one time, smuggle too much meaning within themselves to sustain the originality of their own “meaningless” claims.

In fact, we want to make sure that the tightrope of language, however fine, is made utterly visible; we want to show you what it is like, the acrobatics it demands, and what it “means” to walk it; overall, yes, we want to perform, for you, Meaning itself, without disguises, without disguising. So, welcome to The Writers’ Circus, where we will not be creating a new and original world of illusion, but rather articulate, demonstrate, and evaluate all the illusions behind a-World-already.