wittgenstein and his logik ( lars iyer )

iyer-lars-20170302

Wittgenstein is hoarse this morning. He pulls a tube of cough sweets from his jacket pocket. He unwraps one, and pops it into his mouth.

He speak of undoing of logic. Of logic’s deactivation. He speaks of the release of logic, as of captive birds into the wild.

He speaks of giving logic a kind of freedom. A kind of wildness. He speaks of unfettering logic. Of taking off logic’s blinkers. He speaks of letting soar up wildly into its own sky …

 

Logic is lost, that’s the trouble, he says. Logic has got lost. We must lead logic back to itself, he says. We must let logic recover its memories.

And one day, logic will whisper in our ears, he says. Logic will say the kindest words. We will mistake it for roaring, he says. We will confuse it with howling wind…

And logic will bloom in our hearts, he says. And then we’ll see it—that our hearts, all along, were logical hearts. And logic, which we think we master, will be our master, he says. Logic will be the crown we wear, will be our master, he says. Logic will be the crown we wear on our heads …

 

Redemption: that’s what he seeks. Logical redemption. Logical love. It must sound strange to speak of logical love. But there really is such a thing as logical love.

It must sound strange to speak of the blood of logic, he says. Of the heart of logic. But there really is such a thing as the blood of logic. As the heart of logic.

 

 

In his dream, the Logik is light, he says. The Logik laughs.

In his dream, the Logik can be expressed in a single greeting. In a single word. In his dream, the whole of the Logik can be expressed in a gesture. In a handshake. In a friendly nod of the head

 

 

 

 

 

 


(excerpt cut-upped text handwritten by rinaldo rasa)

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Thursday March 2 2017


 

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