20/03/26
Sometimes while I speak, I notice I can’t see my own lips because I have looked to find my words. My eyes mistake themselves for lips, accidentally seeing words before their conjuring by chasing the end. And words begin to travel in a straight line, following each other consecutively towards me, who’s already at the end of the sentence. Because I’m above, with my eyes stamping full stops between each word, to assign a definitive destination for when they arrive. The word however does not end at the full stop, rather my eyes have created duplicates, words failing to shadow those from my lips, and pushing them into dissemblance. Sight can turn words profane, ruining their edges and returning them to the unheard shapes of sound. To speak of what I can only hear, the word becomes imperceptible in spite to name another.
In languages’ perfection I no longer am between words, and we find each other after finishing the sentences written in our own head. Here, nothing is left unsaid but a lot is when the lines of sentences we hear from each other become distant, and all space between us closes in time. As I speak to you my eyes are your ears, your ears are my lips and my words are yours before you could speak.
ARGO 