The parts are unintelligible without the whole. The first no less than the last. How does one ease into everything with no "neutral" vantage point from which to spring?
The consistency of nothingness is more friendly and complete than the stark misunderstanding of poor introductions. Yet, when forced into action the bloody, ravaged, ragged edge must be overcome.
One hopes the viewer survives the impact, the point of contact, critical mass long enough to appreciate, well not such high hopes, merely endure until pathos or curiosity rather than inertia carries them.
But then, is there any need to continue past the start, since it is really, inclusive? There must be some middleness to distinguish it from the startness and endness. Are there more than conceptual differences, notations or shorthand for otherwise meaningless markers on a blinding, contrast-less plain?
So, then, in beginning, one commits one's self to all. Casually, arrogantly, skipping the crass discussion of necessity. Desire? Ability? Utility? No place is found for their ilk. And how can there be? Within, there simply is. Without, well, without must not be. For one cannot be aware of that which is not everything.
Herein lies the folly. Without must not be and I persist in catering to its needs.
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