Experience, anyway.
(click above if you missed the start)
2 pages in…the new fiction meets a message….
Empty, the space of life
“My relation to others is staggered all the way to the infinite;
from the bottom up, never horizontally, the distance from here to there…
…What you call ‘distance’ is but the time of breathing in, of breathing out.
All the oxygen man needs is in his lungs.
Empty, the space of life.”
-Edmond Jabes, from A Foreigner Carrying in the Crook of His Arm a Tiny Book–
perhaps a title change, but certainly a deepening of the layers…
anyway, Experience, anyway. goes on into the encounters…
Polysemic Stupor 
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We should, perhaps, write with both hands simultaneously. Bend our each ear to their small whispers. A contrapunctal continuo of gesture, thrust, riposte. A dance, that is, of interlaced nothing (the tightest bands being nothing but paradoxical isness ( should you doubt me, ask Fenris Wolf). For delight is always on the tiptoe balance between certain death and uncertain life.
how your additions are appreciated 🙂