'No outward difference...'

Closing the gap between the submerged enormities and the superficially painful farce of getting by. The search for sentences becomes a half-desperate clutching at phrases, or even single words. All prolonging, only prolonging the preliminary (there is that period at the border where you have neither left country one nor entered country two).

What you see is not what you get. I refuse to believe this. Just as I disavow the perfect.

It is of course about death, and questioning death as a boundary, or a limit of any kind. It feels appropriate to note this early on, although everything remains exceptionally sketchy. This trail of thought connects to my readings (Ewan Thompson; a little more around the net) on the practice of thukdam by certain Tibetan adepts - but characteristically I lack the energy (acuity, focus... ah, will, no attention) to string the separate beads of apprehension together with anything approaching coherence. (Readers, if I am to have any, will need to get used to this!). A binary-thinking take on the matter would go something like this: either there is another country beyond the border or there is not. Each of these alternatives renders any foundational - strong, impassable - sense of the border spurious. Note this about thukdam - by extending the dissipative process it blurs and delays, yet it does not annihilate the notion of dying,