We grow old during the academic year. We grow ancient. And then we need to be grow young again, at the end of the academic year.
Then we need to find it again, our innocence. The Promise.
We need to die down, at the end of the academic year. We need to lie fallow. We need Time. We need to go larval. We need slow incubation.
Summer is a dreaming. A recovery. Summer is contemplation: a preparatory state. An attempt to re-enter the Origin.
Thoughts will rise from the summer earth. Thoughts incubated there. Thoughts waiting for us, until the end of the academic year.
Wasting time – it’s important. Squandering it. Cycling out. Drinking … without aim. Without expectation. This is not about a project. It’s not about our future, out writing.
It’s about achieving stupidity. Finding it. Attaining it. Sinking to its level. Falling to it. Failing to it. Letting ourselves be sucked down.
Incremental becoming. The nutrients of study.
Work in Progress 