Saturday, October 14, 2017


More now than that “the appropriation is emotionally eerie”; it’s uncanny. He’s so beyond me, I have trouble imagining I’m him.

“Must go on, no time to write home. Hurry before fire destroys everything not yet safe in The Cloud.”

October 7

One’s body is the real scaffolding of being alive (beyond merely one’s skeleton). The scaffolding of a building isn’t really the stuff surrounding the installation of its skin. It’s all of that which structural engineering attends to.

Writerly project development is its own kind of structural engineering, in fidelity to archetextual designing which, in my case, stays designing while thematic scaffolding gains clarity here-and-there.

Over the years, The Project (which I now call “the Work) has evolved a body wholly unlike my earlier sense of designing (i.e., the four Areas, as they actually grew).

But now, years of material for that writing online (distinct from is being reorganized relative to the scaffolding of the Work.

The appropriation is emotionally eerie—and as such, is beyond tropes, because the Work weaves ultimate concerns into an elaborate conception (derived over many years) of high flourishing, conceptual creativity, discursive formation, and contemporaneity. Yet, no one life can embody It All; only engage with audacity honestly, with humility, and hope that writing of my little life can be worth your time—because I presently feel unworthy of the horizons I venture to master.

Later, though, I feel okay again.

Sept. 23

I’m trekking through a large landscape of notes, going back several years, and it’s going well.