If one is rich in the passionate flow of ideas, one cannot read or listen, and the moment itself is twisted into a confusing mix of anxiety, elation, constantly tuned and strained in its rapt channelling of spontaneous thoughts. The airless, sterile landscape of the room changes and vistas slam open; life gasps with possibility, snaking its way into secret passageways of thought.
Here is the monumental alley, the tranfiguration of the massive dreamscape that makes one feel so small. Or there the structural overview, the map of the world flashing to reveal its dynamic organization, or its endless, trapping layers of contradictory functions. Perspectives come in waves, and so does growth, deceit and misery.
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