“this blog used to be a phantom organ i grew for survival during a hard time a few years ago and a constellation grew around it or i fell into its communal chaos, something, but now it’s all obscured, dispersed, half-kaput. oh well oh well oh well.”
—from [a previous incarnation of] Bett’s Blog
She makes good use of words; wrestles with things by invoking them, or afterwords. Maybe using words as totems to lure sense, sanity. To detangle and heal things. I think this is the job of language: to help reconcile our Big Brains with the rest of Nature, where we’ve never quite fit, where we struggle between ‘good’ and ‘real’, between intellect and instinct. Words are the plain [plane?] upon which we all meet— a door, a device. The power to impart alliance, enmity or indifference. Yes, more powerful than the sword. Often wielded without regard and without practice. Dangerous, necessary, cruel, beautiful; words beget words like cells splitting infinitely and create the world as we perceive it. Rarely taught, or treated, with the respect they deserve. Often withheld until too late, or tossed about like confetti, or shards of glass during an explosion.
e daggar art: THE MUSEUM 