I wouldn't know where to start and am, in fact, finishing. There is a writing-away before writing. I am always scared of receptions and such comes before language. One learns on Tony's rough streets of initiation, not to shout at bullies that you are avoiding them, unless fleet enough of feet to run distraction for a friend they could close on easier. Language hasn't told you much of this and barely works in education. Not many listen and even bullies may need the finger, or the two the English at Agincourt, who probably spoke the French not standardised as such for a couple of centuries, didn't raise as defiant archers as the noble origin of the gesture. Language is much easier received in mystic silence, than paying attention to the efforts of another. In customer service and politics, one must do attentive listening, in order to fob off the punter with a bit of eye contact and some story that her child's broken toy was designed flaw-in for that unique feel that comes from the percipient deaf ear later. You have to love the hidden in plain sight cunning of being told to stick it where the sun don't shine. One is generally fleet of foot, but hopping away from bullies is a leap of the imagination too far.
People don't generally listen. I mean, have you heard the noises that come out of them? Who could be listening to that? How then, can we expect rigorous reading to peg fleet enough of feet as the beginning of a joke that ends in hopping? There are reasons one might want to learn tough reading or even to listen to another. Everyone without an imagination imagines they do this and one is tempted to leave them in the rapture of watching one ball juggling. Generally, my love is so deep I want to teach people to laugh with Kierkegaard. Molly recently described herself as 'my fan' (private letters passim) and reminded me of how humorous Soren was in addressing himself to 'my reader'. One can, indeed, write and even lecture hoping for later pennies to drop. One wants to be received well, yet this is probably why everything is so increasingly soggy mediocrity. Free prose, like attentive listening and percipient reading, is rare and I try to cherish it. I live in Lancashire where 'everyone matters'. The 'm' is always crossed out on the Council signs and replaced with an 'n'. Everyone does natter and I have not yet discovered whether we have a bureaucrat with wit or a highly active sect of language-reality enthusiasts. In teaching people to apply for jobs, I explain how to write the person specification to make it look like you wrote it as about yourself. Classes always protest their virtue is offended and that surely no one would want to read crap like that. I toss them my ten page academic cv and tell them I got all the jobs and work by doing the re-copying, for it is certain the personnel drone who churned out the stuff copied it from a copy of some long lost original. Occasionally, I forget to note what jobs are being applied for and sometimes the desired appointments are in personnel management. I explain they may as well get on with some practice. 'What's next week then Boss?' one will ask. With luck one of the class wags will utter, 'Creative Human Resource Management'. Some catch on before one speaks. There is for those aficionados not here, no free prose in Habermas's 'free speech situations', situations as gormless as dropping a ball and expecting gravity not to affect it. Even those watching one-ball juggling know something comes before speech situations, like already keeping themselves free of the the boredom to come. And they ain't gonna speak either, assuming you won't listen with any generosity and feedback. I'm thinking of joining Allan's private growl group as I have a dog and do the barking myself. Somewhere one has to hate the audience little enough not just to do them away for one's own secret revenge through death by Powerpoint or the fascist slogans of pouting newsrooms. It helps to get one's lectures done by pretty women. The boys like them and the girls hate them. the former able to dream and the latter picking up pointers to be objects in future dreams. No one has to listen and my life is much safer just selling the notes and evading the germs the young try to kill us oldies off with. Lovely old world. So what could be not on thread in this thread? Come on Gabby, speak up and tell me what I've missed or how I unthreaded like a cheap suit and got all over what should have been here like a rash. I have finished and am off to write with aliens.. -- --- You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups ""Minds Eye"" group. To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to [email protected]. For more options, visit https://groups.google.com/d/optout.
