some thing made, w/ [updating] notes.
0:21 A torrent! no.. No. No! My reflection seemed so Real, so still. This reality is not that mirror. Waves waving a way away, wavering I. What is this now? Who is this now, and now, and now, and now? dividuating crests, lapping ceaselessly. What happened to my buoy? I am afraid; I fear. I have to swim. Flailing. Jutting. Slicing. Whipping. Scribing. I need to make wayves to make a way, to make away, to make sense of my self(s). To make sense of this montage.
1:00 But! I am in bondage, anchored with topoi. See I have my buoy! The face I know is placid. I am I. No wayves. No wayving. Only ropes and roping. There! I was just there. That’s me! And that’s you there! We!...... No, no.. This roping is only a game. These anchors, fears; my fears, ideologies—caught in nets. Mother cannot help; all she and Others can offer are mirages of land, ho… I am a deluge; we are cascading..For us, the “I” is but one wayve, an uncountable splash, cutting who “we” are and who “we” will have been.
3:52 Our kid sister. She shows us. How our cuts can be gills. How to follow the fantasy. She leads an Other “through the fantasy,” her fanstasy.. so as to make wayves, to cut the Other playfully with her own bonds so that another may swim some more. The other, ANother, is not bound, playing willfully—floating. ([Look] He pulls up his own shirt.) It is not a question of whether to be the sadist or the masochist, the roper or the roped, the troper or the troped; for it is a question only of what kind of sadist-masochist, roped roper, troped troper “we wish to be.
5:24 We must not forget: it is necessary to rope, but not how to rope. We only need “some more” slack, to drift in that savage place where wayves crash and join, where “we” splash and cut up... So let us “drift” from place to place, person to person, self to self—alwayves floating again between.
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