#dictee

The "enemy". One's enemy. Enemy nation. Entire nation against the other entire nation. One people exulting the suffering institutionalized on another. The enemy becomes abstract. The relationship becomes abstract. The national the enemy the name becomes larger than its own identity. Larger than its own measure. Larger than its own properties. Larger than its own signification. For this people. For the people who is their enemy. For the people who is their ruler's subject and their ruler's victory.

11/12/25

She is the first to announce her arrival. Voice of anticipation. She wishes that it would metamorphose the other. The voice alone, by its force by its pleading by some inexplicable power. Of wishing. Wishing hard enough. She wishes that this person would be metamorphosed back into the person that was previously, she prays, invents, if it is necessary. It took less time for her to realize that there would be no magical shifting. It did not matter anymore. She wanted to abolish it quickly, the formula, the ritual. All too quickly the form and the skin that resembles a past. Any past. With this, there would be no more rehearsals. No more memorization. No end in sight. No ending and not a satisfactory one. One that might appease. If to appease was too much to ask for, then, sooth. Painless, at least numb. To keep the pain from translating itself into memory. She begins each time by charting every moment, the date, the time of day, the weather, a brief notation on the events that have occurred or that are to come. She begins each time with this ablution as if this act would release her from the very antiphony to follow. She begins the search the words of equivalence to that of her feeling. Or the absence of it. Synonym, simile, metaphor, byword, byname, ghostword, phantomnation. In documenting the map of her journey. The extended journey, horizontal in form, in concept. From which a portion has been severed without the evidence of a mark even, except that now it was necessary to comply to the preface, "extension" to "journey." There is no future, only the onslaught of time. Unaccountable, vacuous, amorphous time, towards which she is expected to move. Forward. Ahead. And somehow bypassing the present. The present redeeming itself through the grace of oblivion. How could she justify it. Without the visibility of the present. She says to herself she could displace real time. She says to herself she could display it before and become its voyeur. She says to herself that death would never come, could not possibly. She knowing too that there was no displacing death, there was no overcoming without the actual dying. She says to herself if she were able to write she could continue to live. Says to herself if she would write without ceasing. To herself if by writing she could abolish real time. She would live. If she could display it before her and become its voyeur.

“She says to herself if she were able to write she could continue to live. Says to herself if she could write without ceasing. To herself if by writing she could abolish real time. She would live.”