Snowflake

by JM Francheteau

JM Francheteau lives in Ottawa. He read and bled in eight cities in ten days as part of the 2015 Worst Case Ontario tour, and his last chapbook was kids (Hurtin' Crüe Press). Follow him on Twitter.

 

Reports that say something hasn’t happened are always interesting to me because as we know, there are known knowns; there are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say, we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns—the ones we don’t know we don’t know. If all somehow became known, it might become necessary to create unknowns, though I suppose by that time, we’d know that too. We might then find it useful to divide from those known and unknown knowns and unknowns, the authentic and inauthentically known and unknown. By which I mean, for example, whether someone actually knows what they claim is unknown, or can’t know what they say they do know. We can start by tallying what we know and know we don’t know about that someone, followed by the degrees of our knowing and unknowing concerning what they might have to gain. It has also been said that there is such a thing as an unknown known—the things we don’t know that we know, as unmistakable yet unseen as your own nose. Consider this. Consider each fact upon which the known and unknown divides as an explosion, each of which branches out into further branchings. From a sufficient distance, you will notice these explosions crystallizing into the pattern of a snowflake. This is the complex shape of a lie, each distinct from each, and also of a truth, both of which melt under similar intensities of consideration. From a sufficient distance, they don’t look like explosions at all.

With hands from Donald Rumsfeld & Slavoj Žižek

 


JM Francheteau lives in Ottawa. He read and bled in eight cities in ten days as part of the 2015 Worst Case Ontario tour, and his last chapbook was kids (Hurtin' Crüe Press). Follow him on Twitter.

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