Wondering
whether we will is almost the sole ingredient for experimentation. I
wonder whether I and it (the form) will enter into work and elation
hard enough to re-create something that I and another it had created
then. For hard it is. And hard was what I made then. Like a
hurricane. Like an Armageddon. A storm in a teacup. An ego imploding.
A dream giving up. How porous the separation between then and now?
Between is and was, or in other words, is and is not? Then; 7, 5, 2,
years months hours ago, I made myself mad. Now I am cured. How porous
these two categories. Mad. Cured. Then the question comes, who, what
cures you? Should we be cured? Should we all go mad? Are we not all
mad? Isn't the world just a plain old bonkers madhouse? Of course it
is. The question is, when and for who does it become a problem?
