I have one tenth of this tape to reconstruct the actual reason for recording the event. In conversation with requiem. A third would counter with the kisser. And the violin threads a name through it, in ludic contemplation of the thirty-nine Russian steppes. It is not funny to take even one misstep or the dictionary will explode: a shrapnel of syllables, the back-formations of recorded time, archived for all time like history returning too late from a masked ball. An instep of earth. Slanting down, scrawling toward what is pronounced Betelgeuse, the house of twins whose mirrored backs are doubling exponentially like a cineplex. The musculature of absent potential near one shoulder and with open mouth beveled obliquely against the net of becoming -- the warp of opacity and the woof of the opaque. The bezel's markings designate the itinerary of the planet which inclines or skews and whose whole rotational axis gives a slanted view of refraction. A scratch across a landscape. It should never be thinner than it is. Betwixt and between. Bethink is to recall, as betide is to befall and betimes is speedily. Hegel's Progress. What will become of you when you will have done with having become? What may. Might be better-off blank. A suede pocket. Constantly attacking with ornaments. Best to beseem a system of identification. Bertillon. In every grain the same quicksand. That is, the world, one made of twigs.