20/03/26
In languages’ perfection I no longer am between the words spoken to another, we are already found in the sentences written in our head. Here nothing is left unsaid but a lot is when the lines of sentences we hear from each other have become distant. So I find myself speaking more than you would imagine, repeating the same words to others as time has been cut between us.
And as 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, anticipating words before they can be said, having already spoken the words yet come. And words begin to travel in a straight line, following each other consecutively towards me already at the end of the sentence. Only because I was above, with my eyes stamping full stops between each word and assigning a definitive destination as they arrive. The word however does not end, not at the full stop nor at the next word. My eyes have rather pushed my words into dissemblance, turning them profane. Ruining their edges and returning them into the unheard shapes of sound from which they emerged. In wishing to speak of what has never been heard of, the word is finally seen in it’s clandestine imperceptibility. I speak to you and my eyes are your ears, your ears are my lips and my words are yours before you could speak.
ARGO 