Since WhenOne schoolboy’s challenge to another,the voices having staked their honorson something fixed in time. The questionlingers though to echo off of nothing less than History in which one’s clockis ticking. A tertium quid seems to havebeen invited resolving time and date lines.How long between similarities of events(“whether in the body or out of the body”)might also be meant, as if time were(Do I honor the Woolf of no man’s clock?)a shape-shifter, a track that requires onlykeeping intervals between two acts the heartof the mind, noticings, ergo acts of memory.Only why remains to be accepted, as ifwithin the self lies another story nota lie, but a moment carried over forperhaps no known reason except,if it does not repeat history, it rhymes,Mark Twain’s thought. It plays to the symmetry everywhere in the body’s mind’s habits. One almost remembers the last time something like it happened.One lives in a progress of intervals then.Time melts over a log in Dali’s painting.Hands of the town clock are vanished, in Frost.Your watch is just another fiction, or worse,a lie you have declared a sacred cow.
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Vendeur : Revaluation Books, Exeter, Royaume-Uni
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