1. Wouldn't it be embarassing, at the beginning,
to put my words in the mouths of your characters,
even if they are available to anyone who would
read them, necessary but not sufficient. In
itself, history is just as fixed in the eye of
the beholder, eye of the storm, within the words
themselves, that a character beginning with A
would not be complete. But it might be possible
to go beyond the first letter to get to another
register, if at last the integers compared would
not be shaken by our presence. The vault that
encloses such vocabularies is as arbitrary and
unrecordable as this exact movement of tides. The
boundaries of any reading- present or deferred- must
accord, gestures from the minds of tyrants, visual
figurations inside their own, endlessly enwebbing,
power lines. But like all insignificant and dried
branches, soon to break away, leaving us all the
more exposed to our intensions.

2. Is it by chance that I return to you roday by
the same route that I came to my own reverie-resolve
(a boy pausing before his book, etc.)? The seascape
still bears traces (passed on, not remaining) of
another epoch (not in the past, perhaps, but in
another *clime*) which surrounds some unspoken
utterances in the full chorale of the senses. They came
here by another route, i.e.: the cool breeze on the chest
and arms, waves crashing between thick silences,
gulls crying loudly among us