no words

there-is-a-voice

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lanier beyond words law

jaron on words

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words ness..

perhaps no words because we allow all the words and every other means.. ie: the limit of idiosyncratic jargon ness… realizing.. communication never finished ness

often words are no words. meaning: they don’t mean what the heart means. trying so hard.. to listen to/for that..

what is legible ness.. who decides

quiet enough ness

never nothing going on

listen & clap

toki pona

iconspeak

Chris Luchsinger experiment

language

trees ness

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@leashless

What if the words we use to describe emotions limit our understanding of ourselves as much as using Roman numerals crippled European math?

Phytophile (@phytophilemusic) tweeted at 4:48 AM – 22 Sep 2016 :

@pigworker @leashless what about new languages? or perhaps this is why we have music, art, and other multimedia. (http://twitter.com/phytophilemusic/status/778908815337095168?s=17)

begs we embrace means we have today to let idio jargon approach limit of infinity…
means for 7bill.. new everyday ness..that io dance

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@dougald

‘It is not so much the other man’s words as his silences which we have to learn in order to understand him.’ (Illich)..Ivan Illich, ‘The Eloquence of Silence’ in ‘Celebration of Awareness’ (1971)

_________

listen to all the voices

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the sound of silence via Maria

https://www.brainpickings.org/2016/09/08/the-sound-of-silence-goldsaito-kuo/

“There are many fine things which we cannot say if we have to shout,” Henry David

Of the nine kinds of silence that Sontag’s contemporary and friend Paul Goodman outlined, “the fertile silence of awareness, pasturing the soul” is the kind we seem to have most hastily forsaken — and yet it is also the one we most urgently need if we are to reclaim the aesthetic of silence in the art of living.

The next morning, he arrives at school before everyone else and sits down to read a story, which absorbs him so wholly that he is transported to the elusive place he had been searching for all along.

Suddenly, in the middle of a page, he heard it. No sounds of footsteps, no people chattering, no radios, no bamboo, no kotos being tuned. In that short moment, Yoshio couldn’t even hear the sound of his own breath. Everything felt still inside him. Peaceful, like the garden after it snowed. Like feather-stuffed futons drying in the sun. Silence had been there all along.

In that moment, he learns what we so easily forget: that silence is not the absence of sound but the presence of an inward-listening awareness, an attunement of the mind’s ear and an orientation of the spirit toward a certain inner stillness — perhaps the positive counterpoint to loneliness, which so often thrives amid the crowd

“silence remains, inescapably, a form of speech, Susan Sontag

no words ness

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