of elements, blown across all scales.

Blown in magnetised wind, all essential patterns lift this kite.

The essential is there in the bread, in the brain, in the galaxies; a filamented network translated across all scales.

Ours is a limited translation poised before the possibility of all transcription.

The dictionary is a forest.

Transformation blows through the source from book, through process, from archive through process, from drawing through process from collection through processs

and from process through process

we move through

to the winds arising. Is this blown directly from the source

to books, archives, drawings, and collections

where all is conspiring toward reinvention?

To reinvent our inventions of ourselves in thought, reflection, change: where is the caught experience?

The catching of our bread, our neurons, our stars

our nutrition, our firing, our vast filamented wings depositing essential elements in the stored potential of transformation.

To savour the elements of transformation is to experience the process and to observe the process simultaneously.

To taste, sapor, is to engage sappers, the crawling insistence which will change our foundation.

The dictionary is a forest.
We cannot see the wood for the trees.

The forest is on fire.
We cannot sense the fire for the spelling of the siren.

The siren sings.
We cannot hear the song for melting wax.

The wax will be pooled, and one day will dry. In this surface we etch a map of filaments.