Used to be that we got out new names for new things when we ran across them or over them or through them, but what if the reflex to novelty was instead our own conversion + we thus ourselves took on new names with each new encounter. I was Angela before this tree. Now, I am Brigitte. The tree itself if it needs a name can be called The-Tree-That-Killed-Angela, and our record of the world will be a record of less integrated images of self. For the end(s) of these versions we are truly grateful. We get down on our knees among the kernels of Grain-That-Killed-Phillip to give thanks.
2020-05-15 coup d'œil