report 000027: target acquisition

one grapples for traction, comes up swinging. by what slow progress we sift information from noise, delimit by difference: in a gust of rain unexpected one recognizes the accretion of seasons. there is thunder; there is desire, & desire

for desire. this is a new country. where the feet journeying will find their depth, frost a slow tracery in time, if not in space. & yet a map extends, shades itself, solders connections. i have heard the phenomenon

is called history. if distance were an infinitely recursive series; if one could discover a new dimension; one would, & must. there is no apron sufficiently large for how chaotic this project will prove.

& thus, paint-spattered, one agrees to the clasping of hands. i would tighten my syntax. but there is a sharp edge along every pause for breath, a gap into which one must dive if one lives in hope of surface.

shorter the hour, & longer still: one may discover in time that possibility feeds on progression, that the stray pixel is a firefly. one must neither build nor excavate. a watch may be synchronized without being wound.