Let's take BLIN. Let's take it, however let's remember we could take any word, not only such a short, tight, dense and compact one, but also as long as REORGANIZATION or CONTRADICTORY or even longer, the one that seems branchy, lengthy, cobbled, dispersing, disintegrating.

BLIN is good. Makes impression of something easy-to-swallow, indivisible, unbreakable, never going into pieces. It is almost like an atom was long long time ago: an indivisible particle the world was built of. Because now everything has been broken into pieces and nothing is like it was earlier. BLIN is like a smooth little ball. It rolls. It shines. What can it be broken into: into letters? - B - L - I - N - And are these letters of any use? They mean nothing, each of them should signify nothing. They should be neutral. “Should” - it means they are not. They provoke something. They remind something. With their shapes. With their sounds. While their combinations do signify already. BIN LIN NIL NI IN . . . . . . The glimmering surface is getting tarnished. Is getting rough. Suspicions are arising: maybe its smoothness is but an illusion? maybe its homogeneity is but an assumption having no proof in nature?



What's going on when I either whisper BLIN or say it aloud? What's going on where: in my head? in the head of somebody whom I am talking to (and who is listening to me or not)? What's going on when I'm writing blin? What's going on when I'm uttering this word soundlessly in my mind, when I write it invisibly only in my mind (or with my finger in the air)? . . . . . . . . . . . . And what's going on when I imagine what I describe/denote with the cluster of four letters, four phonemes – when on a plate in my mind the dish called blin has appeared? Undoubtedly something else than in the mind of somebody who has eaten a blin, because the image in his mind will be mostly composed of remembering, recalling his experience, while the image in my mind will not be composed of memories since I have never eaten a blin, I could use only somebody's else memories, their tales and opinions ....... Oh! What will be going on in my head! What complex processes will be launched: why haven't I eaten? who was telling? where did I read about blin? why didn't I taste it when there was a chance to do so – due to dietetic/aesthetic/political/custom reasons? who has invented a blin? (why not myself?) was it an accident or illumination/vision? why haven't I invented any dish? and at once I will recall all blin-like dishes and those I could suspect they were blins or might be blins if they only tried a little ? ? ? ? ? ? ? So complex processes in case of so simple word! It's hard to imagine what's happening in case of words as complex as KONSTANTYNOPOLITANCZYKOWIANECZKA or even much more complex, for example HOME . . . . . . . . . .




Something is sticking out of BLIN. As if the thread's end. I pull it and BLIN starts to unwind, uncoil, unreel. A shimmering metal ball turns out to be the ball of thread extremely tightly wound, coiled, reeled. And it is not one thread, but many threads forming a net and this net is not flat so that it could be easily spread on the desktop, but this is a 3d net, much alike the skeleton of sophisticated edifice. A huge edifice – it is hard to encompass it, it is difficult to move around it, threads tangle and make knots; where they crisscross, in nodes, there are sounds, images, tastes, smells, touches(?), feels(?) - or maybe they are spanned in between the threads – while the threads themselves are tales with beginnings and ends so difficult to be traced that almost not existing – threads or fibres? - - - - - - - - it looks like a spongy structure which has been till now so tightly squeezed, so compressed that nobody even suspected it was there and now it has been uncompressed . . . . . . . . . .




So,
this is a notion. A huge, spongy structure. Our mind operate with such huge, spongy structures, monstrous nets-skeletons. It interesting how easily it copes with them inside itself: throws them like a beach ball, like a balloon, doesn't have to compress them, the fact they are tousled, irregular, branchy makes no problem. While it's the other way round outside. Maybe because we have too tight throats, too small mouths, too narrow ears – words-edifices, words-encyclopaedias, words-dictionaries, words-thesauruses will not get through and they have to be compressed to the size of a pea. Then not all of them are being decompressed. They bounce against the wall and beat down dully making you waste your breath. While the decompressed structure are very seldom identical with the structures that had been compressed, since everybody has in mind different libraries, different files, different archives, different garbage dumps. So, it would be better if they were not decompressed when they got into somebody's head – then we could be under illusion of mutual understanding. But the compression/decompression process is not dependent on our will . . . . . . . . .



And why do we love words so much?

And why do we scorn images so much?
[O]
what could this mean?
a blin in a bin?