Less You Or Less

For instance, I'll tell you that I spent today mulling that particular minimalism that didn't trouble itself to excess with perfections. That is, it would leave an erasure on and not buy more spotless paper. If it set about to make a line, it would make the line once, and not care to draw it again. It would love, even, the humps that slid under the ruler, and its pencil's breaking leads.



I called this "the ringing grid", and I thought about it often back then. That the structural idea could move, and resound, when caught in physical circumstance. How could an idea subsist anyways?--were it not obstructed, misunderstood, deflected, so on--like a singular impact that would die in an instant, were it not seconded and thirded by the area of air that makes it a sound.



All of which is--in that dreary humanist realm that all things get annexed to--one devised measure of comfort against the fleshly frustrations that trouble clear thoughts.