Trycksvärta enligt Gabri

7. Overwhelming you and me,
there are words that remain abstract and words that fall close to home.
Can one say the home is an intimate place?
Can one say the home will always be unhomely?
Can one say that we are never at home, even when at home?
And to think that even when we offer our home to an Other,
it is not our home to offer. Our home is not our home.
Simply, our homeland, not our home-land.
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7a. Do the dead have a home? Is a resting place a home?

7b. My body, which is not mine at all, exposed to forces opening up to an outside, infinite, bursting, dispersing, potent, unexpected, and, thus, fragile.

8. Wait a moment, I need a rest.

9. Language is interminable, but how to be intimate with language? How to be intimate in language?

9a. Can we be intimate in language?
Can we be intimate in any way other than in language?
And I ask you, sincerely (with all the ambiguities of sincerity), in whose language?

10. [Withdrawn]

11. There is nothing one can say without saying the saying of what one can say.
And yet, to say “no” or to say “yes” is already to draw closed the gates or open to an exterior of say-ability, which calls into question the initial point of departure.

11a. I wanted to write something related to the notion of intimacy.
But before thinking about intimacy, I would have to think about wanting.
What in fact is “wanting”?
What does it mean to say: “I want”?
To say: “I want to say”?
To say: “I want to write”?

11b. Is want desire? And if so, where does desire reside?
(Possibly inside the word itself –or would this just be wordplay?)