B}a}c}k}b}o}n}e:

Picasso, Bust (1970) [This, yes, how I feel sometimes.]

I feel as though I could slip through the cracks of people as they look at me looking at them walking by. The bottom of dirty feet, like oily seas. How would I look in the fog? Something whispering: Come and find out.

(from?) The Kφpfe (a bit mysterious to me, but nonetheless, very interesting):

The saving effect of writing always resides in the secret of language . . . In eliminating the unutterable of language, in making it pure like a crystal, one obtains a truly neuter and sober style of writing . . . This style and writing, neuter and at the same time highly political, aim to lead to what is refused to speech . . . The intense orientation of speech in the nucleus of the most profound silence results alone in the effect.

Jealousy is such a vile, rotten thing. Ruins so many things. Including the mind. It does not take much to be happy for someone. “Puff of Word” (Nobukazu Takemura) telling me all that I need to know. Very Verily, Verily-very, some days Oh I feel like an ornament. I find it remarkable, or not (remarkably-sad?), that people “experiment” with “friendliness.” It could be compared to portable rain.

Experimental friendliness? Children do not perform these feats, or attempt to do so. The secret of true, genuine lovablity exists within the combined virtues derived from this mutual pattern of exchange. Every human being retains a childlike core in our natures. We are consistently searching for substitutes to replace the good parents of our infancy in our dealings with other human beings throughout our lives. (reminds me of “The man seemed young”). We will find these substitutes in many different entities, including employers, associates (those that help provide us with our “livelihood”); in a wife or husband who gives us love, comfort and protection; in heroic leaders who inspire us with courage and faith (at least, some of them). And, then, we find them in patient teachers and in companionable (and genuinely caring) friendships; those ones that lift us out of ignorance and loneliness through their sympathetic understanding of our needs (or when there is something in the air, blacker than Daffy Duck!).

In knots. Knotted. In knots. (Q: So there’s no knot equivalent of negative numbers? A: No, there’s not. But it’s more accurate to think in terms of reciprocals: If you take the number 2, then its reciprocal is 1/2, and if you multiply 2 and 1/2 together, you get 1. The knot equivalent of 1 is the trivial knot, or what is also called the “unknot.” But you can never cancel out any knot and get back to the unknot by adding it to another knot. There is no such thing as knot reciprocals.)

I remember the tears in her eyes; the kind that wouldn’t fall, just filled and filled until the eyes were completely pooled. I can often better understand the meaning of a stare.

The colassal jungle of a stare, like Holbein. Trading places with the surf.

Thomas Cromwell Holbein, by Hans Holbein the Younger, 1532-33