. . . On Other Names (continued)

When I started writing my previous post (10 November 2023), I had the intention of illustrating my struggle with names. Writing the last post, I uncovered an inner ambivalence toward names, and then I went astray (and wrote what I actually needed to write).

Names matter insofar as they form a relationship between me and the named. Yet, names don’t change how much something matters, inherently. And as I write this I think about how a name provides me the sense of knowing something, knowing what and who the named is. Do I really know what it is? Or do I only know what the name represents?

Specifically, I struggle with titles. Titles have always seemed so important to me, and for that reason I find myself struggling to make them. If a name matters but it doesn’t change the inherent significance of the named, why do titles strike such fear in me? What’s a title do that name doesn’t?

I am not in the business of providing answers.

Let’s return to this question from my last post: “I’m a poet, so shouldn’t the name of my new newsletter-blog reflect the connotative openness of language that I so admire?”

I’ve wanted so dearly to find a poetic title for this substack. This desire led me to wikipedia rabbit holes, botanical references, aimless walks, free associations, and bibliomancy with the ambient books of my apartment. I love the search.

I’ve reached the point where my search must end. I accept defeat! And in my defeat I want to share a most recent failure with you. It’s a fun one, like the best of failures.

One night during my ongoing covid isolation, I decided to try out a cut-up technique. I wanted to find new word pairings that my imagination had yet to form. So, I wrote 66 words in total (nouns, prepositions, verbs, verb-nouns, adjectives), cut them up into tiny rectangle leaves, and mixed them together in my favorite bowl.

Then . . .

I pulled two or three (or four or more) leaves at random. I experimented with order — first, leaving the sequence in which the words were drawn. Then, re-working them into a sequence of my choosing. Finally, and my favorite technique, I placed the first leaf in the middle, then added the second one below and the third above.

I leave you with an abridged list of names (for things to come?) divined in this process of cut, mix, and pull —

Dawn Flame On Fire / Edge Before Time / Soft Tangent Sky / Is Sky Possible Without Night Flame / All Tangent Again / Lost For Possible / Absolute With Fractures / Night Shore Now / Pain Moves Words / Not Without Words / Vague Sky Beyond / Dawn Violet Lost / Sky Moves After / Shadow Exits / Distant Before Dark / Possible Shadow Fractures / What Word Without / Other Change Acts / Silver Light Flame / Again Is Not Beyond / Bright Violet Pains / Other Distant Changes / Violet Is Not / All Edge For Now / On Other Wonders / What Wonders / Dawn Not Distant Night / On Time Again / Lost After Senses / All For Now / After What Touch / Before Shadow Words / Dawn With Words / Is Leaves Again / Random Flame Edge / Violet Beyond Light / On Vague Indigo

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In other news . . .

1. My pal Aftab is conducting an atmospheric experiment and is searching for remote participants (that could be you!). If this speaks to you, email Aftab by 24 November (aftab.mirzaei@gmail.com). From Aftab —

“I want to invite you to participate in a remote experiment probing atmospheric perception and thinking that holds together affect, climate, and conditions.

This experiment is meant as an exercise of attunement and exploration of possibilities for representations of atmospheres. In my research and meanderings, I think about how atmospheres come to be, what holds them together, and how they might facilitate thinking, speculating and imagining future worldings.

To explore this further, I’ve devised an experiment in which you will respond to a series of pings that act as a prompt to attune to your atmosphere through a specific sense/ modality of your choice.”

2. I am looking for a subletter for my Leslieville, Toronto apartment for any months between January and April 2024 (inclusive). Message me!

Goodbye for now

from this ruby red maple —

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