Over the summer last year, I did a challenge where you’re asked to write 1000 words a day, every day for two weeks. The idea is that by the end of the two weeks you’ll have what could be a small manuscript, and every day you can say, “I am writing,” or “I wrote today.” The idea is that you have a lot of anxiety about whether you are a writer or not, and if you are not writing then you cannot be one. The idea is that by accepting a challenge to write you’ll be sure that at least within the brackets of the fourteen days you’re someone who writes, and so you can think about other things, for example, the way you don’t know how to talk about an ending. Even the placeholder is wrong. On the other side of that explanation is the possibility for want to be something of its own. If not form, then breeze, something being pushed, some movement. I am saying there is some kind of movement on the other side the explanation. Who can say or write for something other than putting up another name. You’re you, subtle noise in the dark, passage across a page, disappearing fuzz in the pass of it all. The idea is that focusing on a goal distorts the process to a point that it is hardly worth doing. If it could, it would be about duration, not accumulation. The idea is that on the other side of this page is a movie I want to make about being at the edge of the ocean, watching the sun from the other side of the world. What you are reading is a way of producing a series of roundabout methods to get to what would be the opening image: deep blue in crawling forms, speckles of light tumbling over itself into more blue, more unforms, a wave cresting over, blue, a breaking, a forming, a line.
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