2019-09-17

trickster


Forms of movement: having three languages to pick a word from. The freedom of expression it is, one would suggest, however, my tongue is split, there are too many boundaries that stop me. Or as Kafka'd put it: "your love is a knife with which I am exploring my body." How can a sentence daunt me into oblivion? Or an object? Is there a special set of boundaries that make me whimper, scare me, trigger me, humiliate me? Is my fear only viable when I have boundaries to face? What is crossing a boundary, how can I overcome such a limitation? Does learning a foreign language mean less or more borders, boundaries?
Grenzen, man muss so zu sagen.
And what is up with questions, what is this tradition of asking questions? Is this first and foremost because of Descartes? Will I ever un-learn my ability to doubt, to question things in their form, their boundaries, to reflect on the special set of objects, whether material or virtual ones? Is doubt, endless questioning a good thing at all? Or would the world be a better, liveable place without self-doubt? 
My language has come a long way, it has evolved into a multi-dimensional tool of self-expression. Kifejezni magam a világba.
A határaim, noha nem tudom őket pontosan megnevezni, az érzékelésem által többé-kevésbé megállapíthatók.
The body in pain, it has certain boundaries, borders, too.
Actually, I have just recently bought a book on the body in pain, on how it is defined or at least pseudo-defined by language.
Whatever. All my focus is set on learning German, I will see how it turns out.
Let me be a seated guest at your house, I promise, I will entertain you at all costs.