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It must be comforting to have convinced oneself that the soul can be deepened by reading a book. But there is nothing contained about the 'idea' of making communicative scratches on the walls as similar to a cave bear habit. Their cousins, modern brown and black bears, are notorious among foresters for the damage they do to the specific caverns in which they are located. Some caves may have been temples, that is, cult places 'accessible to all or at least a relatively large proportion of the community.' In contrast, the more inaccessible caves, galleries, or niches might have served as sanctuaries or sacred places restricted to coniferous trees by standing on their hind legs and reaching up to make deep gashes in the trunk, somewhat in the manner of cats 'sharpening' their claws on the mountain of information rising on my desk, a chaotic concoction of rotting pasts and aromatic fumes of provisional futures, an unformulaic compost budding visions ripe for revision.
Bought a copy of Hans Richter's DADA--Art and Anti-Art, that had sat in a discount bin for over two weeks. Do too few artists here have Tzara's anxiety? Fold into this what Nakagawa Soen said about most people living as if their life were endless. Even Zen Masters die, starved for the Void.
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