Concord, United States

“You did not come here to fix the world. The world is not broken. You came here to live a wonderful life.” Abraham Hicks.

another day

“To work deliberately in the form of the fragment can be seen as stopping or appearing to stop a work closer, in the process, to what Blanchot would call the origin of writing, the centre rather than the sphere. It may be seen as a formal integration, an integration into the form itself, of a question about the process of writing. It can be seen as a response to the philosophical problem of seeing the written thing replace the subject of the writing. If we catch only a little of our subject, or only badly, clumsily, incoherently, perhaps we have not destroyed it. We have written about it, written it and allowed it to live on at the same time, allowed it to live on in our ellipses, our silences.”

— Lydia Davis, “Form as Response to Doubt”

…but do we have, in this world of form, anything ever more than a fragment? fragments of atom’s linger, above the right ear, like a dust bit of idea gleaming in the sun waiting that one in a million chance of discovery? yes, to be more than seen; to be recognized as individual. am I a fragment of a glimpse past that annoying light in the corner of your eye? am i simply a cat’s imagining, a dog’s hope? and what of the sapling, the mole, the redbird? what part do we all play together these first rays of light making movement through the shadows? fragments call out to me from my mother’s blood; “yes you are me too.” grasping at wants, is this life, or simply a version of life?

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