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Breathe not, hid Heart: cease silently, 

And though thy birth-hour beckons thee, 

Sleep the long sleep: 

The Doomsters heap 

Travails and teens around us here,

And Time-wraiths turn our songsingings to fear.
(Thomas Hardy, To an Unborn Pauper Child)

I remember the whole beginning as a succession of flights and drops, a little seesaw of the right throbs and the wrong. After rising, in town, to meet his appeal, I had at all events a couple of very bad days—found myself doubtful again, felt indeed sure I had made a mistake. (Henry James, The Turn of the Screw)

Generally speaking, I would like to write regarding my choices; and what I know about choices, generally speaking. This is obviously a project without any protection against all sorts of destabilizing critique, but there you are; a choice is always a move from trench to field. And as well, the purpose of a book is never entirely justified (Paul Ricoeur, Freud & Philosophy: An Essay on Interpretation); hence why it is armored in confidence and aligned in an intelligible formation; there is really very little choice regarding choices. It's like hanging an exhibition or making a beaded necklace, you have to start somewhere, knowing a damning structurality has preceded you, informed you and even performed you. In that case nothing would be lost by joining the procession wherever. (George Santayana, Scepticism and Animal Faith) or perhaps, It doesn’t . . . matter where you begin the examination of a subject, so long as you keep on until you get round again to your starting point. As it were, you start on a sphere… (Ezra Pound). So, you have to start somewhere, but of course it could be C3 or C4. You could choose to be remote, unclear and ambiguous but you can't really choose nothing.

I don't have the freedom to be certain. Nor, in reference to the above quotation from Hardy, do I have the choice not to be born. I don't have the liberty to act independent of language (Ferdinand De Saussure) or operant conditionings (B.F. Skinner) or habituation (Victor Shklovsky). So what is my choice? Perhaps it is best to act in a certain style or culture, a formalized heightening of awareness with the inclusion of as many points of view as the Threshold allows, the facilitation and maintenance of a Cubist consciousness.

Perhaps, choices should strive to this awareness of inherent myth-making while fabricating, out of thin air, a sense of responsibility and practicality.

What is characteristic of myth? To transform a meaning into form. In other words, myth is always a language-robbery. I rob the Negro who is saluting, the white and brown chalet, the seasonal fall in fruit prices, not to make them into examples or symbols, but to naturalize through them the Empire, my taste for Basque things, the Government. Are all primary languages a prey for myth? Is there no meaning which can resist this capture with which form threatens it? In fact, nothing can be safe from myth, myth can develop its second-order schema from any meaning and, as we saw, start from the very lack of meaning. But all languages do not resist equally well.(Roland Barthes, Mythologies)

Generally speaking, I, like all, have a contextual and contingent soul, but individually, I aspire to a kind alertness in the face of my looming truncation.