and I realize I have no place in the public, but only in the private. interfacing the internals to those who are reflections of all others on their more-or-less skinned surface. how does skin reflect the image of Light projected on it? is it in the thousand-colored fragments that make up the whole, those rainbow-grained glistenings that make up the smallest vision, looking close in bright sun, watch the Light touch, lick the softness, leave a wet vision behind to evaporate to nothing in the heat of day. fog rising from cold winter seas. earth brings the sun to land. pulling with gravity songs, lets us stand for awhile, then lays us down for sleep and re-creation. skin of earth, skin of being. and that is all that separates us. the fog continues to close in, obscuring first the radio tower, then the huge ship-yard cranes, and now, St. Nikolai’s church just a few hundred meters away. it is still very bright, but the Light has flattened and the visible retreats to the elemental.
The journeys the traveler had made had long surpassed the possibility of being counted. Most of them, moreover, were indistinguishable — not because the same events transpired during each or all, but because they were so unalike as to be similar. … Soon, as the black-garbed traveler counted soon-ness, all things would have but one nature. He would be unique no more, and time would have to stop. Whereupon…
Release. — John Brunner, Traveller in Black
the long weekend bled away. the public lecture I give next week will NOT be streamed online — I can’t risk it again! last year there was also a network problem.