I Am A Collection Of The Family's

You Are Ugly When You Love Her, You Are Beautiful And Fresh, Vital And Free, Modern And Poetic When You Don't... You Are More Beautiful As An Orphan Than As Your Mother's Son.

It Is In The Prime Of Youth That Man Sinks Into Empty Phrases And Grimaces. It's In This Smithy That Our Maturity Is Forged.

I Am A Collection Of The Family's Body Parts.

We Say 'forest' But This Word Is Made Of The Unknown, The Unfamiliar, The Unencompassed. The Earth. Clods Of Dirt. Pebbles. On A Clear Day You Rest Among Ordinary, Everyday Things That Have Been Familiar To You Since Childhood, Grass, Bushes, A Dog (or A Cat), A Chair, But That Changes When You Realize That Every Object Is An Enormous Army, An Inexhaustible Swarm.

Not Surprisingly, Because Too Much Attention To One Object Leads To Distraction, This One Object Conceals Everything Else, And When We Focus On One Point On The Map We Know That All Other Points Are Eluding Us.