Each thing will be both what it is and also another thing, if not several other things, if not simultaneously every other thing including you tomorrow.
Tovy diarly plus#
Under these circumstances: page, morning, subject-transforming-into-subject, preparedness to fail, plus chair, light, air, pen, eyesight, pulse, I will be able to let things in. But as long as I can keep going, which may be a year or two longer, there will be – if I can maintain modulation, dynamics – the possibility of possibilities.
Possibly, as in recent days, it was urgent for me to explore a living space that had ascended before me, or to admit how terrified I am of a desolate future that seems a decade closer than it did last year. Now that I have committed to this particular form, quotidian, I have no need to rush to cover a subject or conclude a testament. One of the senses I want to convey here, now I am anticipating a gang of readers on Saturday March 18 th next year, is that time will continue to open out. Deny what you’re doing, even in its wildness, an overall sense of build or restraint, and you’ll end up at monotonous dazzle – or attempts-to-dazzle-that-fizzle. Music is where you encounter this most obviously: when events are perpetual, a headache is almost instant. If anything can happen at any point, unanticipated, farty or tragic, then a work can soon start to seem same-same.
There are bewilderments – and I’ve been through them previously – that are nothing but boring. While I write, daily, I know that there are lots of things I don’t know about what I’m doing. At least I am curious about this particular form of bewilderment.
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