What a heady and ravishing proposal(!), albeit one haunted by a troubling prospect: the fonts of a ‘new story’ are not ours to wield. Our maps – no matter how detailed and punctilious – will always be sabotaged by the territory; the world has her own genius, her own dips and curves and whispered nothings and chuckled blasphemies
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The world is bigger than plot, lengthier than conclusions, keener than comeuppances, nobler than thought, more curious than solutions, and more abundant than arrivals. In short, we don’t make the world, the world makes us. To know this is not to finally be at peace, or to be enlightened, or to be at home…it is to continue to experiment, to theorize, to touch the always-fresh blister that is our tale of becoming.
