Thursday, December 21, 1995

Again we look out of two eyes, survive by sucking sugar cubes, smell through two nostrils as if the dust and ash still rose from the chimneys, hear right and left. A mere change in the form behind all attempts. Willingly open the cupboard to pick the ripe words.

The first things noticed are a number of furry brown dogs in the snow. What nice little dogs. Then they start to move.

To isolate it under artificial conditions and in doing so divert it into diagrams, harbors, knots. To form relays, meld, to escape and scatter anew, at the same time to open out onto becomes real, everything operates. To rest, to gather our food without a word. The misidenti-fication of two distinct movements becomes surface for social contact. Our coarse leather skins in proximity. Choked in it. Everything gone off. There is an I love you upon which all the rest depends. The way back takes our breath away.