008 · Parataxis
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[F]ood is never anything but a collection of fragments, none of which appears privileged by an order of ingestion […].1
To produce writing served like a plate of food. ‘A collection of fragments.’ No hierarchy on the plate. No fixed order of consumption. No set introduction or conclusion. More parataxis than hypotaxis.
The plate becomes a text without a centre. Each choice rearranges what remains.
To taste a bit of that, then a bit of this. To return to that. Mix this with this. Themes dispersed through the text.
Will the work finally rest as words on a digital page? Documents, books, linearity. Dream fragments disrupt thought and theory. Connect to larger narratives. Explore the subject.
I have left trails of coincidence. Details that link the years. Carriers of emotion and thought.
[T]he book is by its status obliged to progress […].2