...the mark of the letter...
I thought these words would title…would reflect my experience of receiving my first graded assignment in grad-school. So I began composing a blog entry with this intention, but the words obstructed my progress…diverted my pen. They wanted to write themselves—to write a truth that was not quite evident. So I let them loose, let them lead…
The mark of the letter…the trauma from the noun…the idea is scarring, bleeding, out living the lie and disproving the flesh…
As I traced this statement, I traveled a line that circled back to the self…to the mark of the letter…to the impact of these words. I reached an examination of the process of writing, not how one grades it, but how it is somewhat like science.
I sat on the wooden step in front of the house and looked out at the world around me: the pavement, the brick, and the sky above. Then I thought of words to counter injustice, pain and poverty, to conjure up hope, peace and empathy. I listed words, connected them into sentences. I compared them, dissected them, let them accumulate. The reliability of their sound was no more valid than their meaning. An evidence of truth emerged that challenged the grammar of it, the measurement. I wonder if I’ve conveyed the meaning, but I remembered the science of it. I could test this, rewrite it and allow it to build upon itself. The words devolved and all that they contained got distributed dangerously and I became an outlier. I wondered if I’ve conveyed the meaning…
I/we have encountered words that never erased completely from the page; like a phantom pain, they are haunting…hiding…flaring-up.
The mark of the letter…the trauma from the noun…the idea is scarring, bleeding, out living the lie and disproving the text...
until next write...
wan love...
and together in the struggle...
