Off to San Francisco

We depart tomorrow noon. Until then, a few many things in my mind. For instance, a few words by Virginia Woolf:

“The ‘proper stuff of fiction’ does not exist, everything is the proper stuff of fiction, every feeling, every thought; every quality of brain and spirit is drawn upon; no perception comes amiss.” –Quoted in Beyond Formalism by Hartman (1970). The fact that Hartman dedicated the book too Bloom makes me hesitate about continuing to read the book. But I happen to like Hartman, so the hesitation is quickly resolved. 

“the fragment”

Myriad objects, of many kind, inch close 

closer together,

top, bottom, sides, all bursting

into unseen agglomeration. Finished and complete, totalities sustain

themselves in coerced harmony.

Compendium of countless parts. And global in magnitude. 

Terra, vast in hardened cast. 

Then, even when fluids enter

there is little occasion for plaster. 

The fragment however, shatters,

any telos, exhausted comprehensiveness.

Finitely formed, the fragment

endures bountiful potential.

What a colossal burden, that must be.

To embody the ability to be, 

without ever becoming,

trapped in eternal completion.

One. Two. The fragment is dual.
Being at once both itself and the part of some other.
How freeing, being two in one.
Shaped and bordered, the fragment
ought to remain within loosely woven
frames.
Unhinged, yet contained.
Unsettled, the fragment can be ominous

Nine. Ten.

. Two. The fragment is dual.

Being at once both itself and the part of some other.  

How freeing, being two in one.

Shaped and bordered, the fragment

ought to remain within loosely woven

frames.  

Unhinged, yet contained.

Unsettled, the fragment can be ominous

 

Nine. Ten.