If the picture above reminds you of anything outside itself – or its=elf – forget it (unless, like Borges's Aleph, it reminds you of EVERYTHING outside itself)! Away with meanings and burdensome referentiality. These are just hangovers from our infantile need to web everything in language, a nasty thing really; how dare it mean anything! Why speak when you can grunt, and IF you can grunt why grunt? Better to sigh when a grunt is expected, to translate yawps into barbaric giggles. One should be miserly with words that mean anything other than their own little packets of breath; unless, of course, the packets are burst, like the inadaquate condoms they are, scattering spent meanings everywhere. The point is, to be mean with those words that THINK they know what they mean. To refashion Wallace Stevens's epigram: there is no wing like meanness.
Lithograph: 'Dissatisfied Square Number 7' by Camille Scott
© Camille Scott 2003
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