Interruption number #?!^*£

We’ve decided to take things a bit more seriously here at Still Water Springs, which means that from now on we’ll be posting full-sized essays on various topics, always with a philosophical eye. We decided that it would be more efficient to have some focus, particularly now as our degree is over and we have no-one telling us what to do again; a naked feeling. What does this mean for the scattered, sporadic posts which seem to appear every once in a while? It appears to us that ever since we first set-up the blog we’ve been engaged in a search for the blog’s meaning. And perhaps along the way we forgot that that very ‘meaning’ of the blog is in this continual opening of new possibilities of meaning. Instants of deterritorialization alongside constant striation. For this reason we cannot simply close off openings in the blog through predetermined and dogmatic goals. At first I thought of starting a new open-ended category under the title musings, but decided that even this would threaten to be too constrictive. After typing the previous post I decided to assign it to several categories to which I felt it belonged, but as I began to do so realised that the list could go on endlessly. I was not merely talking about authenticity, Heidegger, Derrida or deconstruction. Blanchot, Deleuze, Kant, Foucault, and a multitude of other names and ideas could have fitted the post just as well, even if they were not mentioned directly. Thought cannot be restricted to a particular topic, and that is precisely what these bastard and orphan posts are – instants of thought. In these posts we make no commitment to scholarly rigour or accuracy. Instead, they are to be seen as an opportunity to through any ideas into the air as they’re evolving. As such these posts may appear at times incoherent, even nonsensical, but we feel that we must allow ourselves to entertain any thought to the best of our abilities. And who knows, we may even come to see an identifiable thread going between all the thoughts, building-up to something, trying to express something, perhaps even giving birth to a large essay – but forever searching, never culminating.