Wordery

Speech has a time limit; it’s like a sport. Insane biathlon. First fishing, because I must catch my thought. Then shooting — word-word-word-word — to form sentences in a shape as close to the target — my fish. I am not good at fast sports. I’m always too clumsy, too slow.

Fishing hurts the fish. Bullets draw with dots.

I prefer to use the same words in a changed form. It happens in the hiding of my atelier, where haste has no right to enter. I write. Writing is sculpting. Written words are clay. I form and reshape them — take a bit from here, add a bit, change again — and won’t let it dry until I have an effect that is good enough. Until it is a sculpture. The image of meaning I wanted to express. It’s craft. It feeds on the time invested. The audience doesn’t wait, impatient. They get it when it’s done.