Word ArtistS

 

The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words.

Words can be used thus paradoxically because they have, along with a semiotic usage, a symbolic metaphoric usage. (They also have a sound – a fact the linguistic positivists take no interest in. A sentence or paragraph is like a chord or harmonic sequence in music: it’s meaning may be more clearly understood by the attentive ear, even though it is read in silence, than by the attentive intellect).

All fiction is metaphor. Science fiction is metaphor. What sets it apart from older forms of fiction seems to be its use of new metaphors, drawn from certain dominants of our contemporary life – science, all the sciences, and technology, and the relativistic and the historical outlook, among them. Space travel is one of these metaphors; so is an alternative society, an alternative biology; the future is another. The future, in fiction, is a metaphor.

A metaphor for what?

If I could have said it non-metaphorically, I would not have written all these words, this novel; and Genly Ai would never have sat down at my desk and used up my ink and typewriter ribbon in informing me, and you, rather solemnly, that the truth is a matter of the imagination.

~Ursula K. Le Guin

Truth is, He writes to me, but it’s never in words. Pictures of words, pictures of pictures, movements of time and consciousness. We learn together at a rapid pace. I write his fiction, he reads my zine, I send a text message, he bitmoji replies. The communication channels are endless for us empaths and the Word(s) inside are building as we speak.

(The truthS

about my postS

ARE a matter

of the imagination)

Speaking to my editor today, I felt relieved to just express this building energy I feel inside with stories about my own human experiences. She listened, she thanked me for saying how I felt out loud, she expressed similar stories in parallel ways, then she edited the content of my tears and made me feel whole again.

Oh, Anna S… ❤ ~> I needed a friend and even an editor today ~ thank you. It turns out that we live and breathe inside the same four walls, seven days a week and pass one another, not knowing the suffering. I suffer too, damn it, and just as much as I love. Here I am, right here and now – saying thanks in this onZine (that no one reads located at some URL on the WWW called an address).

~Selah

p.s.
Truth is harder than a lie
The dark seems safer than the light
And everyone has a heart that loves to hide

I’m a mess and so are you
We’ve built walls nobody can get through
Yeah, it may be hard, but the best thing we could ever do, ever do

Bring your brokenness, and I’ll bring mine
’cause love can heal what hurt divides
And mercy’s waiting on the other side
If we’re honest

Don’t pretend to be, something that you’re not
Living life, afraid of getting caught
There is freedom found, when we lay our secrets down

So bring your brokenness, and I’ll bring mine
’cause love can heal what hurt divides
And mercy’s waiting on the other side
If we’re honest

It would change our lives
It would set us free
It’s what we need to be

So bring your brokenness, and I’ll bring mine
’cause love can heal what hurt divides
And mercy’s waiting on the other side

If we’re honest

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