I do not exist in a sense, and I am not used to being in the track.
Between the unreturnable past and the unreachable future, Becoming is scattered and fled.
For a few moments, I was absent, I was absent in your movement. Penetrated your body,
summon all your desires.
The great evolution stopped, the split stopped. The rhizome becomes a hallucination at the origin,
radiate, collapse.
The brief balance of the two seizures in time and space, the events condense into an inabordable midpoint.
However ( ) is always ignored and lost before it exists.
I am completely deficient and flawed, the “other”, the pre-existence of gaze.
Not always forward, or to put it simply,
not forward.
Intersection, repetition, redundancy;
observation goes extinct. With eyes lying in the rocks,
bon voyage
— — objet petit a
