Recategorisation, no time, no space, the abyss, create time, create soace space, recreate time, recreate space.

Thinking ahead of my fingers, typying typing, knowing the button to press before pressing it, and thinking continuously ahead, of the consecutive buttons, the consecutive words, that i would like to type, typing at speed, thinking ahead, projecting into the future, as my actions lag behind my thought, the words i want to type, and the buttons i need to press, to move my finger to that button, and to make contact, not knowing the ultimate narrative that i want to write, to inscibe inscribe, kicking the can, and then walking towards it, and then thinking new words, and kicking the can again, repeatedly, what enables my brain to think of so many things simultaneously? why do i instinctively know where the button id is that i need to press? why did practice in typing enable me to think of where to move my finger automatically? almost unciously unconsciously, so that i dont think about typing, but the words i want to write, how does my brain do this? why do these things seem to fall down below the line of consiuousnes consciousness somewhat? and why is it not accurate? why are there mistakes? why do i need to recheck and gover over what i have typed to correct the mistakes? why does my brain not adhere to the rules precisely? why do my fingers hit the the wrong buttons? why does my subconscious functionality, so adept, so fast, at doing things, at thinking things simultaneously, why is it not able to be orecise precise? why arere are there mistakes, errors, sins. Intentionality, what i think should be done, followed by my body actions, to manifest my intentions, and then making errors, not following my intentions. Why am i, why does it seem as if i am not in toal total control of the actions that i wish my body to perform? why is, does it, seem as if i am not in toal total control of what thoughts i want to to think? why does my body and my mind sabotage itself? why error? why sin? Sin is defined against God’s will, your will, not mine, so maybe I’m not sinning, maybe its not sin when it goes off [happens] differently, when my actions follow differently to what i intended. Why does the oractical practical matter, the touchacable touchable, actionable reality, oush push in, interfere, disrupt? does it have a will of its own? are you trying to correct my intentions? are the errors, ’errors’, axtually actually corrrections corrections when i am under the guidance, under your guidance, when i ask you to come and do your work on me? must i review the errors, the ’errors’, and see them as the possibilty of of [being] corrections, to [towards] your will, the will of my father, desire, my dessires, your desire, your pleasure, the errors, the corrections, erections, the out good, the installations, setup, erected with the intention of outing good, of mnifesting goog good manifesting good, the disruptions and errors, that follow on with the action of erecting, do i accept them? should i accept them? should i allow the errors even though i do not understand, even though they seem to not erect to me? will the accunulstion accummulation of the errors, the repetition of the errors, eventually inscibe a narrative that i can understand, and become cognisant of? can the accumulation of erros errors eros paint something, manifest something, cause something to come to knowledge, cause the origonal original to appear, the new that was is always already old? recategorising error as the accumulation of the caue cause for new-old knowledge, a erroe error as erection error as erectio Error as erection, in the space, in the enclosure, that you have prepared in the womb, the erection in the womb, sutained sustained, satin, weave, where the erection is weaved, where you are making a good weave, a string a string a strong weave, that prepares another enclosure, an enclosure that can hold love and joy and pain, a strong weave and a soft weave, silk, satin, spider silk, at creation, at room temperature, erection at room temperature, at womb temperature, a womb that is sustained supported by another system, another structure, another weave, with its attendants, cleansers and supplements, the conceptual womb, the metaphorical womb, that begins, when does it begin? with no space, no time, an abys abyss, with no categories, no erections, in semination insemination cannot take place with a semi, it needs passion, it needs to go beyond the cool rational, it needs to dip into the irrational, the illogical the realm of error, the preconceived area of forgotten things, the pool, the unconscious, the rain, the cloud of unknowing.

Regulated, the adventure regulated by the addition, the supplement, guided by that which is not simply inside nor simply simply outside.

The story isn’t over if the story isn’t good.

Recategorisation, rpeat repeat repetition, until the story is good.

Miranda sings: cant you just paint the leaves and the flowers, Wayne?

What are leaves what are flowers? what is inside the leaf, what is outside the leaf? is a petal not a leaf? what constitutes a leaf? what constitutes a petal? is a leaf not a flower? where do the leaves and flowers begin and end?

The leaves and flowers in my mind, in my being, can i not paint them too?

When does a daub become a leaf or a flower? when am i painting daubs, and when am i painting leaves and flowers?

Caught up in a hopeless dream, drowning in an endless sea, burining burning in a hopeless dream.

Rising up out from the surface, bleeding, supported above the water by what lies beath beneath, manifesting, coming to knowledge.