Just a little lubrication. Something to make the differences glow. I can see them now, temporary and fluctuating lines between what things are what they are not. Categories, spaces, spaces filled with things that today, for now, just seem to work. But they vanish as soon as they appear. Things, events, occurrences, thoughts, actions—each appears in a flash but vanishes in an instant. Something to make the differences stick, something to make vision persist. Tracks.
There is a sense of importance when the edges hold for long enough to be recorded. Something is being created, a thought is being born that carries with it an energy that travels back up the hands and into the arms. Writing is a perpetual motion machine, with each new statement sending off sparks of new possibilities and newer statements. It is a real kind of momentum. It’s the momentum of history, the energy that keeps things shifting far faster than we can dream of possibilities. It’s the momentum of music, a merry little snake winding its way through a woodpile. It’s the momentum of thought, an unpredictable zigzagging motion through thickets of potentialities.
Sustained spikiness; every side is the other side.
And rest. Lots of rest.
i too am attempting to track&trace, in a race against the next paradigm shift that inevitably inverts it all. motion and twist! well sed.