This morning I just wanted to see what was what... I sharpened my "Grandmother's Tooth" knife to do a little bit of an exploratory flow... I wanted to move through the roughness of where the machete had split the seam, where, I imagined the crackling had been - it was like entering a zone of tension-passed, a landscape of brutality-gone-to-sleep. The slumber of a yet-to-be awakened surface transmutated out of all that crackling-tense harshness of strands of broken heartwood into a world of becoming-surface...
Oh yeah, so there I go back to those heady days of Deleuze and Guattari, something about becoming... the sense of losing self... What was that all about? I'll tell a little secret... I used to carry "A Thousand Plateaus" in a zip-lock bag in my kayak when I took month-long paddling trips in Southeast Alaska... On various evenings, on various shorelines, I'd settle in and open the book up to a random page. I probably never got close to understanding even a rudimentary sense of what that book was about, but it would allow me to travel through so many levels of thought and contemplation...
Becoming produces nothing other than itself...
Anyway, where was I?
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