"...and suddenly finds itself out on the street, in a body, embodied in light, walking, awake, almost satisfied."

I will get to the bottom of this. I'm building myself a net, a ladder of nets, maybe a net of ladders. Little silver links, binding things together. Things have been scattered, you see, ever since the beginning. Things get split in two. Parts get tossed into corners and over oceans. Centres cannot hold. Things always fall apart. Bemoaning fate has gotten us precisely nothing, so I am beginning anew, emancipating myself from the course of things, freedom from precedent. I am finding the pieces. I will do it myself. Each piece bound with little silver bonds, starting small: loose connections, little rope chains, rings of reason. They're connecting faster now. Soon I'll have a whole blanket. Soon I'll have a net.

But reason cannot be caught in nets! Hope is an ellusive thing, fate cannot stay! Such statements are of no consiquence here. Nets only hold what can be held; things can only be held if they are thought of as things. These concepts and forces are part of the little bits of life; by fragmenting items they infused themselves upon the items; once destroyed by fate you become fate; and so the force becomes it's own undoing. But undoing is the wrong term here--the undoing becomes the doing, the destruction becomes creation. A hybrid of possibility. For when the forces that be fragment the items we hold in our lives, when forces intervene and seem to scatter your life or cleve it in two, therein is the key.

It's a little key, made of gold, scarecly visible in all the force and glammour of the driving powers behind us and in front of us, but it is there. And it is the key that undoes and redoes. It is the key that creates out of despair. Once poured out onto space, our split affinities and distressed objects mix with the crashing waves of time and fate, the broken pieces absorb the wind, and what emerges is a wholly new concept. And in the emergence of this new concept, the original thing is forever superseeded by the new monarch: the shining, hard light of bright resilliance and fierce resistance to obeying the normal course of action.

Our minds can be our undoings, but they can also be the undoings of those things that would ordinarily undo us. And so I am building myself a little blanket of nets, a little map of experiences and fragments. I am building a map of the future.