Notes
2026/10/05

10/a

Writing as a series of sketches, of snippets, as an album. An album of snapshots, with no expectation that they add up to a single unified picture or even form an unbroken chain or arc. Discontinuous. Fragmentary. But with a strict cadence, following a rhythm, a pulse.

Is the tension between writing out an argument and inscribing fragments fundamental? An argument is linear and rests on at least two points, connecting them. Fragments are the points themselves, scattered across the canvas, sometimes forming a Gestalt.

Who is speaking? Listening? Is the presence of either required? The introduction of an “I” can sometimes act as an anchor, and sometimes as a stand-in for context, as a convenient vantage point that merely hints at an arc. But is context always necessary?

A calendar is both commonplace and a violent force. (Reminders: On Kawara, Tehching Hsieh.) Slicing time into years, then these years into months, then weeks, then days. The “arbitrary” nature of months and weeks can make years or days appear natural, but the decision to slice along those lines is still a decision. A decision to slice, to count.

Is an argument a transaction or a sacrifice? What becomes of writing, what is its form, if you abandon the idea of it being reciprocated? Writing as pure inscription, as a ritual? (Is there a ritual that does not always preserve a trace of a ritual in its most literal, most sacrifical form?)