Soon I will go to work; soon I will wheel the bike onto the street. Meanwhile, a few minutes to write. Always something else is about to begin, always errands elsewhere and tasks elsewhere. Soon, to work, soon the bike must be lifted over the threshold into the street, and meanwhile, a few minutes, not long, no more than half an hour. Soon, the trip to work, not far, and even less far if I cycle rather than walk, and in the meantime, a few minutes to write, but what shall I write? Soon, the cycle on the street, the front door locked, and I will roll down the hill to work. A few minutes left, however, a few minutes to write something, but what shall I write?
– The flat smells of rubber, write that. – The flat smells of rubber from the wheels of the bike. – The cereal bowl is in the sink, write that. – The cereal bowl is in the sink, soaking with the coffee cup. – Nothing in particular is happening, write that. – Nothing in particular is happening. The washing up soaks in the washing up bowl in the sink, the bike is the hallway and light comes through the bevelled window which divides my bedroom from my living room. – There, that’s better, you’re writing something. – But what I am writing? – You’re setting down details, you’re writing about the world, this is already enough.
– Soon, the trip to work. Soon, the trip to the office by bike. Downhill all the way to the office. Meanwhile, a few minutes to write, but what to write? – Write of what you see around you. Write of the room and the flat and the view through the window. – I’ve written of that. – Write of what you hear in the room and the flat. – I can’t hear anything. Nothing at all. – Write about your keyboard and your monitor and the desk. – I’ve done that all that. I’ve written enough.
– Then what is there left to write about? What do you want to write about that is not this and not that? – Everything. – What prevents you from writing about everything? Don’t you understand that writing must pass by way of everything in order to say everything? That it must pass through the room, the flat, the rubber wheels of the bicycle and the bicycle, the office and the hill on the way to the office? Though all things, omitting nothing. Through the things of the present and the things of the past. Through the things of the present and the past and even the future. And above all, nothing must be illustrative. Everything is everything. Again, above all: nothing must be illustrative. – The bike in the hall. The cereal bowl in the sink, in water. The coffee cup by the cereal bowl in the sink, in water. The long hill to work.
– Nothing must be illustrative. All motifs, concepts, images must be linked; there must be no narrative residues or blind alleys. – The bike. The smell of rubber. The cereal bowl next to the coffee cup in the filled sink. The long hill to work. – Everything must carry meaning, refer to something, recur. Not one detail must be illustrative. Everything must exist for the sake of the whole. Everything must be borne in narrative. Everything must be made to speak. – The bike, the smell of rubber, the cereal bowl, the dirty coffee cup, the rooms of the flat, the hill: all that? – All that.
– But what if they are what cannot be borne by narrative? What if they are what cannot be made to speak? Resistance: the things of the world, as they resist. Resistance: is it because of their resistance I want to write of them? Nothing must be illustrative; but only because writing is only ilustration. Nothing must be illustrative; because nothing, in the end, can be borne in narrative.
Lars Iyer's Blog 