| up north 5 part 6 - 1980 november | work & days: a lifetime journal project |
so that the thought you have between you is more alive than the thought you may have apart. And the next week he is senile, he is anchored to phrases.
some way to make the visual sound and vice versa
counterenvironments - language and experience images - evocation something about space perception love needing to tell those preoccupations currents given off a way to translate sight sound and beyond - to ? 5 Trying to sort the pale blue envelope. 100' of the stove swarm but already too late, sun moves so fast. Very efficient trip to Valhalla, long across the fescue glossy field. Gaudier Jerska was not new afterward, though energetic. Burning books. McLuhan, Limbourg, Shakespeare, Eskimo, Tennyson's clear pictures, movie. The unreadability of the dirty brown commentary in most. Like a magnet to the clear pictures and also the direct personal: Stevens (de la Tour), Herbert in shock. - simultaneous afterimage spatiality is 'evoked' durations ranked one above the other a close, naked, natural way of speaking a person describing to a blind one eidola copies theory would be like sound - thing reproduces itself, hologram after image is the balancing: ie the eraser
Turner - the lines of force that shape the outer scene
Yeats using images but saying he spent his life clearing out of poetry every phrase written for the eye beautiful Limbourg In midst of talk about arts work creating sensibility thinking of the people for whom, and how it doesn't matter to them not being able to, what sensibility they use Confusion, that the new is still being fitted into the old, rather than dropped. - That you write as though you were underneath the letters. I honestly think that the great creators of our minds in this century are fallacious, including Einstein and all this testing of the universe which is proving him right. the languages - any act
the blackness of being inside ourselves Questioning if there's time to be - to let oneself be - Pound, stoned, drunk, scholarly, the doubted minds - is slightly - I mean faintly - answered by the sense that that's what simultaneity means (it's 'I' but them), the sense of a generosity.
"That you write as though you were underneath the letters. What you do is," she feels out her words, "it's behind thought, or before. The creativity. I'm teary." That Persephone had a son, who killed by Titans, revived as Dionysus. a manifestation of --- at the climax Central to the rites is exactly an encounter with [in Greek characters] Persephonea. Hermes moly a wild garlic Is it good for the crops, or bad? 'mediumistic properties' - did that color (of emotion) take on forms <interpretive of divine> order to find out what is obscure the shining of the dark, whore, Persephone
the 'conquest of Circe' ie not to be turned into a pig birds for the mind we can identify her by her eyes
how delicate it could be in the air long from the hips she fingers on his shoulders, only there and kissing, her breasts point toward him he strokes down her spine 'til she settles (held) head sleeps on his sternum arms long down her thighs up and apart, knees to his ribs the way they hang they are each other's only planet she's sweet-cheeked like ----, someone, who, Eve on the ceiling remembered the Indian gods though their feet are unnecessarily on the ground through his life as Ezra Pound
Watching carefully. Last night at midnight excitement in the house because I'd said "Why would I want to be in heaven with people who won't help me. The people who help me are the people I see struggling." She said "Maybe you don't see in what way people do struggle." Well I do see him struggle with men, socially, publicly swatting, shouting at her, venting into her, and at night, and she 'working' to learn to see Satan in her perception of his viciousness, so she moves like a sewer. The hands, clutch. Last night's dream of the women's bank, Maggie and other faces I liked to see, fine daycare room, Maggie's open smile. A very small church half removed, the other half pews in their places. Houses needing work, deep excavation into black dirt, three houses' places. A medieval music workshop. On the way through the small streets looking for Luke, pass the singers, look closely at the fabric, and a woman's skin between her breasts. "This is the only life you have to know me in!" "It isn't so much that I want you to change as I want to know what's what." Watching eloquent formed sentences coming out. One moment hands over her eyes, her mouth has another look, it looks like mine, is it thought. The Mennonites infamous people, Enns, Martins, Konrads, Wiens. That's nothing. Any family would begin where - again. The middle misery that won't say it wants help. What is it. I know that ratio, thinking how to do it, yes small courtesies for more efficient use. Freedom, last night was high and lighthearted as if a freedom had come, at the building site it sang, embarrassed, but see it through, I have de-cided to follow Je sus no turning back no turning back. Does that mean Jesus is somewhere they don't know. If you were - if I were enclosed in doctrine I would be interesting. I don't understand why - suddenly interested: is it because it would be guaranteed then? "The light that I know would shine through it." (She means C.S.Lewis.) Some, sometimes prescient and clairvoyant, escape and thank their personal supervisor the father, others are twenty years slowly dying in camps, in mines. Even if there were no one who saw, would I see. I want to leave them to I don't believe it isn't cowardice but what's coward not fighting for Cheryl or Don, is. And what about Luke. Luke. Looking for Luke, but not to go on in this family. To go on in that family and fight for all its quality survival. "Women have been doing important things and you won't read them!" A man has several basic needs, the greatest being his need for admiration. "I am working on other things." Are the people who don't hang onto being saved in any way in some way - Listening holding my breath to that growl, it comes a growl! V'daumte schveenerie. Ugly sound, still an ugly sound, I space back from it. It's unchecked. This is his money project, and he's willing to indulge his difficulty like that. Sheeting the roof, later when it was cold, shingling. Liking to work. She and he fart. P-P-P-P-P-P-P-P - She was masterful. She got me. And what is it about Anna. (She got me.) Useful because she rouses hardness And that's what - I'M GOING TO RING OFF NOW. BYE BYE. Joann has my letter and felt it. The rhumb wheels that's how I think of overhead view what would it look like from here looks like this the movie then what's a movie "it's a rectangle out of a"
If the light source is the camera The fog and its [sketch] comes not methodically but a joke. In which mostly it is white space. makyo or all its beings were his children and that he needed no more than his bowl was a viable emptiness lost his life root so as to integrate (combat) insisted on staying in some isolated hut I would answer: in the trees fishes play, in the deep sea birds are flying 13 Thursday Building at Epps Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. Come home from town, stride in new boots. J-V package of writing. - On the roof thinking of the gay mayor. After she'd come, the discussion. Is it her, could I think of another way to reply. Like telling the story, show her a picture of touching ---. But I don't want to. And the discussion as we do it, is what. Stick fighting. Making the house, efficient action, the way we've done it helps him speak to direct, so it's possible to be one mind. And then his fury when she isn't doing it. But not able. What. In a fury how she slows him. Not seeing what she's doing. They're both not willing. Trying. Not able to imagine. And what I want most is not to be them though if I were, I wouldn't be. No she does, or she does. - [not sure this goes here: The journal from Nellie's time, absorbs. What is it in the back: wondering whether to doubt how I'm spending this time - this morning Caedmon's story, working and watching what the work notices. M comes and I try to kindle her with the sense of language. In Hythe at Connally's try to get her personal. Of the day she says "It seems to be showing that it wants to make up" for what it did earlier last night. She seems unusually stupid, sense of holding still. Disappointed she won't engage. Where does she want to be, with children and simples? "Do you ever think about dying yourself?" "Oh, --- --- --- myself!" "Dying, yourself." She says she isn't aware of being afraid and thinks of it like CS Lewis, going through a door. "Do you think you'll have the presence of mind to notice you're going through a door?" "Sure, why not?" Later, "That's a so much bigger place." "This place is very big too, you live mostly in a little corner of it but this place is very big." "Yes and I do hope to see more of it soon." - The mother goddess wants to become human to bring a human daughter. but later became a contemplative Now, it is a curious fact that Rabi'a, though given a tribal surname, was never called by the name of her father strong evidence of her having been a slave and therefore of no known parentage That she could and did live the celibate life is strong proof that she had no known relatives A freed slave would be able to choose for herself a weaver by trade, living in old Cairo Account of the Lands, a great geographical dictionary
that one on fire with love and longing She left that place and journeyed into the desert at first followed the calling of a flute player
Cavalcanti, Arnaut , a complicated structure of knowledge and perception, the paradise.] 14 Workshop with J, J-V. Trobar, Dante. The long corridor dream. Who is she. - A flame under the wood in front of the east porch. I shout for her to bring the water bucket. Some animal is running in the land south of the house roaring. We don't know what but it's coming closer. Something makes me unlock the door. Small boys and dogs running very late. Their farm fathers with a grain truck to pick them up. They were hunting? Standing on the yard talking to them see the animal run northeast, a dark form at a distance. Is it a bull? Or a pig. No I see it's an elephant, another, and more, running with ears spread. We go back to the house. Two women in saris, with pans of food. The kitchen's downstairs on the right from the side door, I understand they are with the elephants, they say they're just fixing a picnic. We say we'll join them. They welcome us only when we say we'll bring some food. The corridor. A corridor - is long, it's still this house though it looks nothing like it. Go to wash. In the washroom, with the men, I say I like bathing like this with men in the same room, the elephant gypsies. Going upstairs into this room, meet or seem to meet people I've known in other times, there's Dee underneath me. Dee! Sitting next to one of the elephant men, washing, a good heat in the part of my back that's near him. It's a goodness of sex, not to be refused. He's bent over putting his finger slightly in my ass. J later comes with a thin girl. "I've been lying down with Martha." Who's sitting with her arms up around her knees. J and I looking at her. "She has electric breasts." I'm not worried, this is the arrangement that will make it possible for me and the elephant gypsy, for both of us in this long corridor's encounters. Is it then we wake from the dream knowing the dreamed house is still there around us. I'm walking south. There was a fire that destroyed our house, rebuilt to this one, with three of the original rooms. I'm wondering if we're in the future.
roof squares, chess whereas your fields are large but that desire eros was most like kin
that maens maenad mainesthae to rave a rave sidepiece of wagon variant of rathe, arriving in the early part of the year, hraeth, quick
Am writing all day. My bright friends are all here and it's with them. The brilliance with Helmer, and how Brigitte said it
Standing under moonlight, Helmer and I. She jumps in the truck, turns it on, turns on the headlights. He in the light, too, but his small head, white whiskers, blurred eye. The beauty of color. Cold. Whiteness around the half moon over the pickup. [2005] The intense light on us. When he walked around into the truck, I was looking down the beam to the standing brown grass. Some clods. And the blue west. What's so lovely in this. Three lights in separate places. Separate. Come inside back to the letter to C, and look on the back of Brigitte's typing. When he talked about the linx it began to shine, her beautiful little head. Putting in her earring, the delicacy, and how he built it with his "Put your legs apart ..." Well I had it before he came, from C. To the pickup like nearly fainting, so intense the pull back, but able to be graceful at the door, and when he said it it made me notice and try to remember his speech.
Exact memory. The processes. First pattern. Teaching. Imagery. Senses. Would I die to learn something worth showing? When they're shown and know where they are? Don't know. Push. If they had that constant sense of how interesting it is to be, would there be something for them other than being artists. Astronomers. Doctors. Anything, butt better done. Yes. But I have to find out about Ethiopia too. - lynx a link "You might have a lynx going by, he might go by those spruce, they're real tame." "Put your legs apart. A little more. That would be the two poles. You'd put the trap there, and then you'd have some kind of a stick, with pricks, they don't' like to step on that, they won't step on it." "So they'd step over it into the trap?" "They'll step over it into the trap. I usually cover it with one of those men's kleenex taken apart, lay that over it, for the snow." "What they say, I don't know if it's true, they say if a link goes by here, in three weeks he'll come by again, like he's got a -" "Like he's got a circuit?" " - a round, yuh a circuit." - imago - entomology - unconscious picture of parent, persisting immature transfluent Egypcian to Europe from India in 15th c elephas elephanos 17 Happy working. 'Working.' The news was that these blue sheets are the new tales of navigation. And then that they're at the beginning, only that it's something to focus. Began looking at J-V's fantasy including mine nastily. Enjoying the acid. (I need a sharper knife.) To the Three piece, and how excessive it is, though it gets cleaner by the end. What we've learned since then, but is it extending a perversion. Foundering in the erotic for so long. Seeing her having to, and is my freedom her, coming from her. Typing the list of shots. It has something simple, if it could be in the form of a movie, how could it be read so the pictures would come. Some sound. In the afternoon thinking of J, went to the rockpile with plastic sack for wood. A person walking this way on the opposite shore. Her? Her? Her? Or him? In that order the four I'm 'with.' Cold, didn't wait, is that a gun, it must have turned when I did, walking back, I see from the road. - Writing. That most of the work is for nothing. The excitement thinking how it can be built. That's thinking of before the reading. And yesterday writing C knowing there was something wrong with it. That means: is the intoxication to find or loose something, but its machinery worthless, or is it, if part of it's worthless, all worthless. Is there a both. What I know, writing J-V needed 3 drafts and 2 days? A scrap to J. But when I looked at it after what was for C, it talked out in a different voice, lower pitched. And J-V's Merced, Andy's fantasies, what's wrong with the tone that's right in Jane Eyre. It's a hunched posture. H.D. humble.
An image in the place of an image 18 Dreams noted. Brilliant carpet stumbling to window. Helmer stroking back his hair opposite George whose clear eyes. "But he smells you know." Boys. And feeling pleased with them. And got rid of large box, 5 small, 1 wheel, 1 large suitcase, 1 bamboo curtain, 1 orange bag, 1 blue sack, very large. [Jam's stuff] Resistance to thought of her. The suite from that time isn't easily bad, though it makes me cringe. There are rhythms in it I couldn't write carefully, the rhythms are wonderful, and do they say where my attention was: yes. What makes me cringe in metaphor is -. It's in the time of writing not the earlier and it seems to be part of the way of finding the sensation. The mistake is being satisfied with it? But the speed of recall. Speed of getting it back means carelessness has to be. Could anything but fucking have that intensity. The way of halting to look at the thing, and the right word. The cage of writing. The cage of rank. Having ranks on either side. And why do I think I can get away from that in films. Because of the small category. But the cringing at past writing is something about writing? Or is the picture less known. Why he had to learn the tradition. Seems to be deciding that first time right isn't yet possible. But to hold out for it? By revising? Rhythm. That it depends on rhythm being allowed in the first time and that the bigger all-body rhythms are what - And her monocle? What moves is the magnified part of the bother's body. Exactitudes and frozen. Or rhythms and inflations. Obviously there are people in music with wide rhythms changing to every moment, and the perceptions exact. Mozart. What I'm wondering is how it seems that having got this engaged with writing, as always was, I have to see it as far as I can make it. Obviously. But the other problems of content and the human - - The contraption is a long wire with Coke bottles strung on it and a hash pipe at the other end. My friend lights the pipe (now we're outside) with a sung call, two phrases. The first woman halfway along the line has a slight breath only, it's so concentrated, then the one at the end. They remark. My friend comes to my couch, takes my foot in her hand to run it through her hair, that's what she wants. I'm interested in how it will all change. The slightly wet kiss I get isn't to be followed, I'm wondering if the idea is that she wants to make love with me with the other two looking at how she can make me faint. I notice her sung call is being echoed from outside, long after she released it, comes back faintly twice, am I the only one who hears it. See a cantina at some distance, it seems it's a jukebox song coming from there, twilight. The second lighting of the pipe. After it's been past the two they offer it to me. I accept a breath. Looking at the light on the goldy grass thinking, this is where I know, I'll still be here, and interested, thinking it may be an erotic wonder. Sitting on the grass in a black robe, with my hands inside it. The woman next to me, one of the two, asks if it's like I'm pregnant (not quite that). A thin baby, or a bag of groceries. My friend says "Roll 'er over," hands and feet, rolled on the ground. Suddenly "That's it," a male voice. Look up shocked to a very large man in Turkish dress. Instantaneously know I've been sold and pull back my feet from the hands they're in, command the women "They're hurting." They're not but I want my shoes, Turkish, embroidered, off, in case I need to run or fight, and instantly on my feet. Switches to narrative: "Six months later," about to be sold as a slave; it was accomplished. Shock woke me. Revising such beauties last night. Before sleep, breathing, trying to watch breath. After a while suddenly found myself with temples electric, in the enlarged black space, seemed the devil's realm, that imagination of a head and face, what's the word, makyo, stand firm and pass through. Did it to leave the trash memories I was in. Going into hash.
catamnesis history of a patient after recovery! according at discussion of what can be said written pictured Rapidly through moonlight down the lane. Moon circled, white cloud in the centre, brown, orange, could see it as purple and then blue - turquoise - green, yellow, orange - fuzzes out. Strides, frost on the grass, still where I know, and then, willing, frost still, on the path and the grass next to it, but the path is sloping north and up through the pasture to her house, whose like I see under trees. And a fire to the side, she's with it, sparks zag up and fade, anguish in the solar plexus, she's beyond the flame, tall, poking with a stick, now I'm nearer, on the flat, see her eyes flash, this isn't the calm one, whips the stick up, and then down, red curve runs up and down, its tail dying as its head flies down. She throws the stick onto the fire. "Walk with me." Puts her hands into her old windbreaker without inviting me more, strides toward the cliff path. I'm with her. The path runs northeast. We're sideways to the moon and high above land and sea, trees on the left. It's that ice glitter and being nearly, from here, alone with the oval moon round stone. Walk fast. Some breath left in our track. Sheep trail ends, grass, now we're side by side. She straightens her arms horizontal from the shoulders, walks springing from heel to metatarsal, rips off her jacket, stamps, throws the jacket down, stands and stamps, HOW-OO-OO-OO, coyote. Stamps, snaps her head back, slaps her hands against her thighs, hard, I've joined her stamping. Old bones ugly naked bones, snap stomp, up the legs, liven the legs, up to the knees, send up impact, fill them up, makes voice come, throat feels the scrape of the yells, can't yell the long yells I want, holding it back to short ones. E-E-E-E. It may travel a long way in this thin light. Ah. It ends. Walk home slower. Faces through breath set ahead. Now I can look at her. White curls. Eyebrows not white: dark and straight. Big nose. Big nose bellower. What'll she say. The last little slope. Run it. Oh yellow windows. Fire down to red sticks, transparent. She throws the door knob, kicks her feet, one then other, on the side of the stoop. Leaps in after me. Leaves the door open. Throws jacket on the floor under the coat hooks, bangs stove lid and firewood, moves the kettle to where it brums. Oh. Mirium. No name. Closes the door, first looks out it. Blue. Orange. Oh no name. Sit. At the table. Cloth. No. Wood. Cup. Two clacks, a clink. Pours. Clinking scrapes. Now she'll look. How am I? Where've you been. Up there, 'working.' What're you waiting for. Oh. Her. Get away from her. Something with a roar in it. No roar there? Oh her. Small. Tight. Observations. Remarkable. Perceptions, very. Sensitive. Admirable. Precocious. Fingertip. Muscle? Mine. Bigger swing. Underfoot, push. Able. Course. Child, free, saying, sweet. Sweet. Sweet. Isn't one of the men, showing off, rank. Oh sweet so I can be. Ah. Work? That's it. Has to be, rank, wants to be, sweet. Shouldbe shouldbe good. Wants to be wants to be ahh pretty. Had to leave pretty. But where's warm. Oh. Where's. I love you little baby. 'Protects her spirituality.' And then? She's full every day and child and friend, it's from the centre, not forced. Hardly anyone does it right. No. And you? She slams her heels down. Ha. There's no flying away. No piercing through. No calm old lady. I'm here. No poetry no music no religion no lover no discovery. Here. Stone melting out of my teeth. Not magic returned. No erotic. Time. Force it. Find it. Make it. None of these ways. Other. Blamed. Stranged. Shrink it. But surge! Has to be - . How. Oh, surge, that's body, cliffs, diving, fast, brighter blood, but real, violence, expert. And? And? Go along noticing? Not fright? Single? Meantime, make up something, yuh, a turn nobody saw. Game? Job. Money, a jump. And get him. Yuh. And that, if it tests? If. Slurp. Slurp. Clank. Clank. Now. Don't go home. No. What. Game. [rhyming associations] What'd you learn. The machine rhymes. Is that a job. Releasing? Easing. It's what happens if you don't have another. Games to senile? Jobs for anyone who doesn't sense - [daily record] 20 Thursday Kid in Tony's [Tony Tiller] photograph. Yeah something to keep them that way. "He had such fire and I never saw him again." The eye-boy's little body looking at the elders [went with Tony to Grande Prairie to see The tin drum]. Tiny people in uniforms. Leaving on Sunday. Looking through the trees to the house: thrilled that I might, or not, see it again. A future moment come. The craft of the film's lights and angles. Who knows so much. He killed practically, and against it the young man in check shirt pink cheeks clear eyes who loved me though I was not easy to love, because Jesus does. It was for speaking annoyed I talked to him. It's to return an attack. Not only his. Could anything convince me. It's as if Jesus church is the devil and the nature of me is puzzlement. Have they had some shock they don't say. The certainty of the ones who've killed to survive? One of the devils. Tony hasn't a whole brain to help him. Who does. Instants. If I don't have a whole brain, then how can -. It's crucial but no sight through, don't know. In that way, don't know. But fight more openly to learn what's around. Listening to Tony's salvations having to oppose but riding into enthusiasm began. 21 2:45 Sun at _ degrees Antisun empty powerful definition of land line. Yellow glare through makes green. White strongest W Single long flat (c)raft somewhat perspectived row. Their west sweetness of color, blue up through mauve to what's called white, it's pink with something I can't focus - is it opacity brown or grey. SW-S piles ridges couldn't be seen. Overhead azure and alone in it, smudges, of the eye or? Sense that seen, it might be scintillating dots, it might be full of round things: alone with molecules. Something with care and learning would be seen. Behind me hiss tumult and from the side trees beating. (Is it sound black and white.) Being up there noiseless soundless, rectangle and open air. Then bushes by their reds. To come closer around the red stems is a blueness. Walked round it to see if the blueness is in the bush, but it is around the bush. The grass stalks individually vibrating in front of the bush, the willow stems set as they are individual and spaced, vibrating. S. Lowest edge is orange brown rather than, shadow a browner, the thicker piles exact white brilliant. Feeling back along the shapes, put memory of flying with it, they were those hard definite cumulus you could walk on, that was the elevation in them. Over sun and flying west away from the largest one, that was oversun, fast dark middled ones as if torn from the larger. The speed, mass, grey. And where the sun's, a brilliant hole slightly iridesced, ragged (iridios iris) square, then too brilliant. W duller, clod and sheen, greyer, a brilliant smudge, not small, another sort from anything in the whole, it seemed more sentient, all one sunlight yellow white stretched (my?) ice wind on face. Whether the solider ones but moving fast, are carried by an even stream, (whether) I can't from them, see the even stream. 4:00 Azimuth paler, NE, E, shine's more toward the redbrown, very pale orange, small clods denser pink. SE, S thick, underside many blues pale, dark, mauve, something like a turned field, rounded furrows. Upper shines pink. SW but this side sol, very distant slit break into pale green, singleship dives through. And why the isles of the blest, because they're seen "in the Western Ocean." 4:30 in the pink clouds are blue. Toward sun streaks down. They're chalky, Michelangelo what was his red chalk, quick streak, maybe snow. Just before sunset on the ice white diagonals at different angles. All in one place run same way, it seemed, toward centre. 5:00 blue pushing pink, both fading, clouds are pale white but is so pale white. Why can't I tell if it's blue or pink. It's white but. Moon's due, watching high NE. Can you go into the streak like seeing the movie over tracks, and feel changes in speed (with) density. Recovering the sense of learning something that belongs here. And what's already been done - and here, I'm then, as with no difference. Missed its first. It's half with a bar. Oranger than I saw, the features. Must've been 5:12. It's surrounded by darkness that gives it the intense edge. Takes off at an angle, less than 45? And is it one moon height per 5 min, and is the speed from here, close to minute hand's. Ie just subvisible. - 'at your best' First visit from Aphrodite - was it - her black lace on skin, breasts, from twilight and twigs, red, rose, I didn't know vagina, must have been underwater air, I can see the lane toward willow bush, from the hill, down, shore ridge, cuddled in the ditch grass thinking him, he steals down the hill, eyes say hello as they do now, Aphrodite was the feel I made up a body for, it's here today. "Gazed at the moon as at a lover," I can't take my eyes off it. Genevieve white wave. Foam born schaum I would say: light and the ocean of specks specca Persephone's raunchier It isn't metaphor, it's really the ocean. The number of women's names that mean fair or white Genevieve, Guinevere - white wave Helen - light, torch Gk Penelope weaver. Ho I suddenly understood the suitors. Rhoda rose Germanic elf names Kenneth handsome Paul little - Trusting that what seems most deeply right, is right. She thinks a mortal given time can make a story. This is what I am. Built forward.
Transilience. Leaping or passing abruptly from one thing or condition to another
22 4:30 Had been packing and didn't want to go out and look Without clouds or wind but cold East's pink, south's orange, both go up to yellow The blue's rise has me at fulcrum [sketch] Those are the tangents to the hypothesis Whatsit whatsit like The material opal glass opaline milking glass Watching a little one dissolve and again etc. The material. A cloud's corner leaves. So you can know where it is and then only color. The blue could rise. The way Einstein projected himself. - okeanus rhus his stream encompassing the earth
Setting out on the flat wiring diagram Map and coastal navigation How's the map used It's only by map there is sequence - as to why it's unthinkable - there was a real past I can't get to, but approximately recall, there will be a real future I can't see, which I can try to predict. If I work to predict future I'll have a more accurate sense of past. New tales of navigation physics what is Someone organizes everything known from - I was going to write - the view - alternately with the map - that's sequency and simultaneity.
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