love this, only wanted to say that there was always already grammar,
always already structure to being in the world, not " Early folk creating
grammar on the fly, far from learning it or being taught it. "
we were never, none of us in the world, nor animals, nor any, creating
grammar that way; I remember Heinz von Foerster describing culture
beginning with negation, even amoeba have culture, have that -
On Tue, 27 Aug 2019, Max Herman via NetBehaviour wrote:
> Take a pebble for instance, an item,
> One of the few and many that can be picked up by hand.
> Some are like this.
> Some can also be instruments, sticks or stones, alongside the immovable
> Hence thou hast compositions, counting, forms, names, phrases, and such.
> Early folk creating grammar on the fly, far from learning it or being taught
> What counts the quiet though, the quietus?
> There can be no count without that, no seeing, not even any hearing.
> Well the breathing counts it, says the brain.
> Imagine all paint and no canvas!
> You lose track of your sons.
> Were they ever even yours, oh fleet of foot?
> Wild turkeys cross the streets coolly around here,
> Up from the Mississippi,
> And I thank them daily for it.
> More than one story-set or circle of the world
> Calls life breath, the one and the all
> An old-time bellows or mill that moves particles
> Like Da Vinci drew
> Each pebble a point and a pointer, if marked,
> And of course a black square.
> From: NetBehaviour <email@example.com
> on behalf
> of Alan Sondheim <firstname.lastname@example.org
> Sent: Monday, August 26, 2019 6:11 PM
> To: NetBehaviour for networked distributed creativity
> Subject: [NetBehaviour] Goddess of Storms and Alphabets
> Goddess of Storms and Alphabets
> I'm not sure how language would begin, not sure how language would
> be recorded as a gesture accompanied by a sound. Sure to be sounds
> accompanying gestures that hardened, somewhen into a signal or
> call, somehow a meaning. The sounds were ghostings, heard over the
> hill around the hill in the forest across the stream behind the
> rocks above the cliffs within the caves, the gestures were bodies,
> the bodies were breathing, there were two directions, into the
> lungs, out from the lungs. There were swirls and whirlwinds and the
> world breathed and was given body and bodies. It was cool to hear a
> knowledge from one who was knowing, invisible, elsewhere. There
> were cries too from the woundings, there were disappearances of
> familiar voices from leaving and dying which returned in memories
> and dreams made real with them, the waking in the night, the
> weeping and ululations. The world was enormous and narrow and all
> around and the same for many comings and goings for weeks and
> months at a time, or just a vision around the boulder surface or
> from the sky when things moved there, as they always did. The world
> was always different than the world, and always new and old, and
> always the world. The murmuring of the world was everywhere and
> everywhen and when that became language and accountancy, everything
> moved away, quietly, until distance itself became unfathomable,
> unknown even in its familiarity. Sure to be sounds, sure to be.
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