an online magazine of fragmentary writing



Spring 2010 :: Current Issue

Here. Said.

Chad Witt

This piece by Chad Witt (1971-2000) was written in 1990, at age nineteen, in response to a personal rejection. It was submitted by Meade Crane in memory of the artist and writer, and is included in the book Bright Desert (2008), a collection of Witt’s poetry transcribed and edited by Crane.


Here. Said. This said. To be forgotten. In this that is. Several words declined to be said yet again. In the making of the all. That denies the words. The words again. To be this time again. Alone. In rooms of not knowing what is and is not. Seeing the black illumination all around. This time. It could be night this time saying the darkness. Alone yielding to what is brought to roads. Enough. This time talking. Without the recognition of passages in a book. That have been forgotten. To this. Only the times of the end cannot be detracted from what is called the void that is lived in. Without so much as a thank you or a good-bye the exercise is fruitless to the imagination. This that is called that. No more. Imagining the times. Again the intuition ringing out loud. It can be heard. That can be said. Hearing it. Ringing. Constantly. Nothing recalls it. Once more the words ring. Faulted by the work. So far. Up to here. If it can be called here. Not listening to what calls the bell. One. Two. Three. The silence in between the others. These are called other silences. A theme of darkness. Without a chance to be corrected. In the time. The altered sensed. Of being. Denied that. Here cannot be known. The time. Aimless. Its loudness. Standing up. The down bells ring. Saying that. Nothing is happening. Here. Nothing is happening. Not standing up. The black alludes any sense of determination. Unintelligible. The sounds. As gradually. The time doesn’t run out. Just here. For to be this time. Again. Listening. To it. Not with anything. Not worth anything. Talking here. The not doing it. Denied that. It. The wished for. The infinite silence. A passing homage. Worthless. That. Including the talking this time. Not just the imagined. Parts of it. By way of. Only to this. Symmetrical. The lines. Cleaned up for. Register for the missing parts. Whatever they are. Saying that. To here and from there. Dispose of the dialectics. Listened to. Lastly and firstly the parts. Intertwined. Processes. The difference between things. What is. Circles all around. These parts. Saying words and not listening to them. A foolish banter. Beginning to. Here and there. Oneness of tables not here. Returning. Once more. The blackness. Calling to the table. One leg missing. That was once known. In this desolation. Giving things names. There a thing. One. Things and again nothing. Words in a corner. In a pile. How many days. Thinking. Monotones. Opaqueness in three words. Can’t be seen through. Until. No. Not that. Never is not said. Discern things in the dark. Waiting. What. Bell. This time one. Still constant. Ring. Five times three. An arm. Leg. One. Still. Again. Constantly nothing. Cannot. Called that this. Again. Circle five the room. Imagine. No more this. Stood here. One time. Recalled. Alter this. Wall. Lines. The building. Brick. Remembering that. Sensing the particles in the air. A leaf. One. In the corner. By the words. Just out. Stop. No. Not this time. Around. Nothing resolved. To be for the bricks as they pile up. Counting them. Going by. Inventing air. To sustain. The verticals. No paper. Said this. Stop. No. Not here. On. Top the. Withheld from until all traces of themes stop to be said. Wind. Rush. The wall. Counting the lines. Don’t count. Nothing counts. To count. Needing. Joined by. Listening again. Nothing there. What happens. This time. On the floor. More lines. Withdraw. To this this time. Souls. Here they stopped until. One day. Raising up and down. Falling again. Failing in the prospect that. Again. Dominating. In front of. Turning pages. Until. Unbearable. The silence this time. Louder still. Counting the loudnesses. Warranting. Time. Uncounted this time. Counting that. Remembered. No. Not that. One. No. Denied that. Around the room. Here. Not in. Out. Sides are not counted as well. Formations. Built. Until again. This time again not all gone until. Not there. Not the now. Behind the glass. All around. Mirrors. Not seeing. Knowing that. Thinking. Air until. Now. Several portions are. Missing. Gone missing. Words just escape. One by one. A flowing. Meeting here. At times more than one. Existing with and not for. That at once denied. Again that word. One at a time. Crossing. What. The street. Bricks in the street. Hard. Escaping. Wishing to. Cannot be. Said that. At one time said that. A prose work. Just the words. Again. Can’t escape them. A flow escaping near to far. At once all around. Just there. The acting part. It isn’t that. Must say isn’t that. Just portions. Gone. Nothing. An allusion to. Once before crept the ways. Down the street. One at a time. Wide. Painted the right way. Correctly. The same. Suspended. Air. That song. Suspended again. Here in the again corner. Anxious. To. What said. Cannot say what said until again the corner. Here. The black. Desire for. This. Whispered quietly. Motions. Back and forth. Never more than one. Multiply. Nine times eight. No clock. Just the bell ringing again. Imagined. The parts which. Perpetuate. Time is moving forward. Not that word again. It can’t be. Again. Not said. That part. Tired of. Motion. No. Not that word. Just words. Can’t be. A terrible.


“The Truthbary”: a video on the life and art of Chad Witt (a collaboration with John Douglas).


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