Free


[Dürer]

I've been extra busy lately, and the rest of this term promises to be similarly challenging. Nevertheless, I continue on with my reading of Musil's diaries, Bachmann's poems, and now, Molloy once again.

And once again I am I will not say alone, no, that's not like me, but, how shall I say, I don't know, restored to myself, no, I never left myself, free, yes, I don't know what that means, but it's the word I mean to use, free to do what, to do nothing, to know, but what, the laws of the mind perhaps, of my mind, that for example water rises in proportion as it drowns you and that you would do better, at least no worse, to obliterate texts than to blacken margins, to fill the holes of words till all is blank and flat and the whole ghastly business looks like what is, senseless, speechless, issueless misery.