I generally have four or five books open around the house—I live alone; I can do this—and they are not books on the same subject. They don’t relate to each other in any particular way, and the ideas they present bounce off one another. And I like this effect. I also listen to audio-books, and I’ll go out for my morning walk with tapes from two very different audio-books, and let those ideas bounce off each other, simmer, reproduce in some odd way, so that I come up with ideas that I might not have come up with if I had simply stuck to one book until I was done with it and then gone and picked up another. So, I guess, in that way, I’m using a kind of primitive hypertext. I am not a solitary thinker, or solitary learner, or solitary channel of these universal wisdoms and universal truths. I’m constantly learning from other people. I weave. We all weave in different ways. What is the tapestry of lessons and wisdom that are unique for me? Each person ends up with a different tapestry, but you start to see patterns amongst them. As masks are the sign that there are faces, words are the sign that there are things. And these things are the sign of the incomprehensible. Mutation occurs in the present, both flattening and warp occur in the immediate. The liminal period ends with another submersion in liquid that evokes the water of rebirth. From the wind, I learned a syntax for forwardness, how to move through obstacles by wrapping myself around them. To let meaning come from an accumulation of feeling. An experience when an unanticipated and spontaneous idea suddenly pops up into the head from nowhere. An unnerving sensation that, rather than us making something happen, something is happening to us. How such connections spring to mind are guesswork but they seem to favor those who have a promiscuous curiosity and chronic attraction to problems. As Nietzsche put it: “A thought comes as it wills, not when I will it.” A transformer is a device by which the voltage of an alternating current system may be changed. Slowly, the giant hand that has been crushing you relaxes its grip. The gilt lettering on the cover, the well-rubbed yellow-gray pages, the bugle notes of the title page, the orderly chapter headings, the finality of the last page—all these assured him of something sensible in the world. Naivety toward the full complexity of a situation, its effects and affects, but also its potential vulnerabilities, can be an asset rather than a hindrance. It frees you to fully think the situation anew. void setup() { size(200,200); } void draw() { background(200); fill(0); int i, j; for(i=1; i <= 10; i++) { for(j=1; j <= i; j++) { text(""*"", i*10, j*10); } } } “Folk” is an unstable term that immediately embodies a tension between self and other, us and them, past and present, here and there, urban and rural, high and low, tradition and innovation, individual and anonymous/communal. In tracing out these tensions, our research counters that the received idea that danced “folk” movements are simple, natural, local, uncodified - their meanings entirely transparent or self-evident - and suggests instead that, rather than affirming hierarchies or “backdating” aspects of culture, “folk” movement comprises a set of conventions that have been deployed as an aesthetic and political strategy to persuade and make arguments and to mobilize affect in service of various projects at different historical moments and in different cultural contexts. In short, “folk” has been used by dancers and choreographers as a tactic to reconfigure the present and reshape the future. 1. [Pera pera]. Describes chattering away frivolously, glibly. Describes speaking fluently in a foreign language. Describes leafing through a book, thumbing through. Describes cloth or wooden boards that are thin and cheap-looking. 2. By which force does one single mutated cell, in turn, change the entire body? The world we want is one where many worlds fit. Often we arbitrarily designate moments, points along the way, as “finished” or complete. But when does something’s destiny finally come to fruition? How do I listen to others? As if everyone were my Teacher, speaking to me (Her) cherished last words. The universe of possible worlds is constantly expanding and diversifying thanks to the incessant world-constructing activity of human minds and hands. We live amidst and, however unconsciously, partake in constellations of the real that cultural standards, narrative givens, etc. can’t make sense of, or even perceive. Simply to realize they are here, emitting flickers from the feathery increments of their iridescent half-lives, requires the kinds of time that we are rarely, if ever, permitted to have. Reading can be freefall. You are reading about a poem comprised of a thousand wayward looks. Dear navigator, in this highly-controlled environment without any natural climate, temperature, or humidity, my writing letters to you according to the rhythm of the seasons and the twenty-four solar terms is in itself a little silly, with a hint of obsessive-compulsiveness, but for me this is the only way to preserve my fundamental sense of earth time, so that when I step back on land, I won’t be overwhelmed by that fierce sense of strangeness. Each of these spaces is perceived at a different moment—a book is also a sequence of moments.  It should not be permanent, it should be very impermanent. It should aspire to the interminably pure moment of an interlude. Lila’s and Lenu’s obsessive relations to both physical order and to specifically writerly order make better sense when considering the original language that Ferrante uses to describe Lila’s experience. What translator Ann Goldstein describes so evocatively as “dissolving margins” or “dissolving boundaries” is smarginare (verb) or la smarginatura (noun), a peculiarly untranslatable and double-edged typographical term. Smarginare, oddly, indicates both excess (as when an image bleeds across its boundary, or the margin of the page), and boundedness (as in the cropping or cutting of the image to size), both the breakdown and strict maintenance of margins. Translator’s sons and daughters, or more redundantly, the translator’s translators. The source keeps shifting. It is It that travels. It is also I who carry a few fragments of it. In front of the simple question of where to bury her, it suddenly became frighteningly clear to me—to me, the free, the liberated, artist—whose head was full of freedom—how deep the hidden ties between us went, how strong they were, and how my world could be destroyed in a moment if theirs caved in. The coming together of two self-consistent but habitually incompatible frames of reference causes un choque, a cultural collision. I believe in radical softness and I enact it as I feel able , allowing myself the opportunity to embrace thew vulnerability in queer existence as a source of strength. Vamos pensar no espaço não como um lugar confinado, mas como o cosmos onde a gente pode despencar em paraquedas coloridos. Entre a oração e a ereção / Ora são, ora não são / Unção / Bênção / Sem nação / Mesmo que não nasçam / Mas vivem e vivem / E vem. MATRIARCHY [IS DEFINED]BY AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT CONCEPTION OF LIFE, NOT BASED ON DOMINATION AND HIERARCHIES, AND RESPECTFUL OF THE RELATIONAL FABRIC OF ALL LIFE. a monster of energy... that does not expend itself but only transforms itself... [A] play pf forces and waves of forces, at the same time one and many...; a sea of forces flowing and rushing together, eternally changing..., with an ebb and a flood of its forms; out of the simplest forms striving toward the most complex, out of the stillest, most rigid, coldest forms towards the hottest, most turbulent..., and then again returning home to the simple out of this abundance, out of the play of contradictions back to the joy of concord. 1. Make something invisible for a camera,

patterns

leave it behind

What is the tapestry

Stories go in circles

words are the sign that there are things.

incomprehensible.