Metalogue (script)

I can imagine remembering the past as if it were the source of a series of actions, emanating from some region wide beside the edge of sense and moving, as if by refraction, into the present and beyond.

Or-remembering a past in which I imagined a future from which I might remember that past-and so attempting to consubstantiate the process of time itself in a single act of awareness.

But no-it goes beyond this-beyond any mere image or metaphor. It is like a wind, a presence that enters after some invisible journey, drawing strength and paradox from the appearance of accidental synchronization, chance alignment, strange agreements.

And so it rises into the realm of tangibility, making itself evident in patterns of superior organization.

And so it attains a supreme resonance. A calisthenic of rebounding fabrication-an icon of power that moves into passage-

that evaporates the assumption of centricity and foretains the end of narrative-

the compelling genesis of speech-which arises from beyond the locus of awareness by which mysterious process we cannot say, but which, no sooner seen and understood, passes into emptiness

before which we can only stand and point in mute amazement…..