To see the relation of character of people and the present instant, in every instant. That is, seeing character while (or as part of) continually staying on track every present instant. Even trying to track every instant changes an instant.
- Leslie Scalapino

Day of split daisies, day of split sunlight. People either outlined in thin nerves of sunlight, or people secluded in clouds. I think of their weight, their relation to it ["it" signifying a cloud-veil of reckoning and calculation, architectures of understanding]. A dialysis between people, a molecular movement or shift. Two people as tectonic plates leaving a scrape on one another.

Friday. In the act of being stunned, I felt a sudden cleaving, water separating from oil. The hoof of a cloven animal. What we see is blossom, passes. The rhizome remains. But within the terrain of understanding between people, in the beneath, the rhizome often frays, is overgrown with thicket.

Between that day and today arises an unforeseen and immense bruising, accused of having a "lazy soul," if I translate correctly. If I am a detective, then all acts, when found or realized, are translatable symbols. Each instant, an artifact, whether flanked in steam, or received in trance. Precious visions. A clouded translation is acceptable. It is what the world means in its arrival, to you.

When speaking in terms of theories of experience, I always remember Sythy's notion of "each person as sovereign over a world that is unique and may have unfamiliar rules, norms, and values." The act of granting that sovereignty is the ultimate act of grace.

"...so a piece of writing may be only birds."

In recent correspondence with Nicholas B:

"You have appropriated your language to a point where the herd-language, the herd-spirit, the herd-perspective has trouble making your uniqueness common, shared, brutal, a sign, a mark for all." A granting of sovereignty in movement, inscribed or told.