The sentries sleep on the lexical borders, sighghing their sighghs, the lighghts dimbed to an almost twilighght. Sighnlights turned awf. What is the border between word and not-word?
Ae? A? Ai?
Ay, when does a ‘mark’ become a ‘word’? What happens when we open the barmy adore of words and let the hors ou’?
What’s on the borders between?
Scientists have printed a functioning heart with an inkjet printer filled with heart cells. They print 10,000 sheets, each a cross-section of a heart. When stacked together, the heart cells bind and the whole begins to beat.
Stacking words. Letters. Sounds. Ideas. Beating.
Now what if some of those pages were heart cross-sections, but, say, letters or words. Would the heart beat? Would it be something between a ‘book’ and a ‘heart’? How many letters or words could one insert and still have it be a heart? Half heart / half story? Half hearted lyric? Where would the border be?
How much can you disintegrate a word and still have it be a ‘word’? Still have it be anguage?
L&which: they’ve discovered a new word order on the border. Here in eyeyeland. It’s lighghtyears away. We here in the earlighght there thoughght. Ughgh! some says. Ughgh! It is an inkdictment:
Wriiting/speeking: thot becomes thoughght. Becomes taut. Is taughght. Les Mots sans Frontiers. Words without borders. All incite with no out. All outsight with no in.
eyeyesighght / insighght / the mined
We’re game for game as long as we’re the game. Games like gametes reproduce. Cre-eat. Join: zygotcha. Blastocyster. Act. Captcha the flagging. Flagon. Floating.