[syndicate]

[Alan Sondheim]

To be in and of the cradle of consciousness within a closely infinite
relationship to extensive time and space, slicing through that, in order
that _this_ consciousness among all others speaks and writes within _this_
plane of infinitesimal appearance, disappearance - space and time of the
womb, of the closely infinite walls of the womb, vagina, matrix, concavity
of the chora, closed off, momentary defense or fortification. But among
this that infinite sky which consciousness comprehend, well, that is
understood, understandable, but the question and answering of _this_
consciousness, of the sense of _my_ fingers, or fingers under my control,
lending themselves in the midst of the inconceivable plenitude of worlds,
this splay or embracing in the guise of wonder, this opening which is so
inconceivably peripheral to existence, that its questioning is always
already absent before the enunciation...