Durability. Recognition. Hunger.

no. not.

Only a portion. Only a portion. Only a portion. Only a portion. Only a portion. Only a portion.

I say this only as a portent of the potency of ports and causes. We each are hungry. We each require. We each need. We each rot and waste and reciprocate life. It is this which is holy precisely because it has accumulated firmly, directly, in contradiction. We each waste away. We all waste away. We each. But we are. We transfer through portals in mind and construct life which is not just lie but actuality confirmed by potentialities realized, acted upon. Balls fall down potentiality slopes, they slide along and down heights. Their abilities depend upon themselves, as floating upon each other and beside each other. Location has become representable in such a list of ways that it finds its absolute, its confirmed target, at each solitary individual life that is interpreting these representations. We ALL hunger. We re-cognize, we cogitate, we cognitively form ourselves as cogs in these machines precisely because we see it like ourselves. It IS an engine of hunger, of desire, of consumption, of production, of reproduction. We recognize that which is true each time that we confirm it by sense and understanding.

We experiment, we play with our scope and context and extent and boundaries and focus and declarations. Durability of the term “we” becomes tie-able to the formation of truths declared about pluralities known by the reader. Durability of the actuality, the matter of facts, is yours. You are durable. You awake and remain yourself somehow. As if what was leading you through a doorway or window was trying to help you cognize a scale of time beyond you. But I am not leading you through a doorway. I am showing you the door and talking to you about it. I have many of the same questions you would probably have. To call one a probability is to light them with a flame and a match and a corrupt sense of natural divinity. It impugns upon the facts of the matter, that each of us is alight already. That we shake and roll and cry and perk. Dice. And yet to call oneself understanding of such a thing as probabilities is to belabor the point: we exist in a matrix all the same. Ulterior motives produced by our fictions delude us into constructing elaborate infinities where they are not. Location is durable. Location is real and physical. You are local to yourself, you are able to be located, you locate your targets, you locate your operations, you locate things. You retrieve with location. To focus on something is to be located with it in some correspondence. To continue with it, to strive as alive with it. To produce mirror reflections of sensed patterns sourced from it. To effect oneself by the process of production and reproduction of the immediate individual to which we are devoted and hunger to suppress or divide or observe or aim for or consume or retreat to or potentiate or abolish. Hunger tears at us each to fall victim for the ever loving notion of retrieval. To find and get, to obtain, to manipulate existence such that an outcome we want, that we need, is made real. We are quantum tunnelers, expanding our thoughts out into webs and trees and forming pathways by which we search and seek and find and direct motions towards and produce motions correlated to.

Recognition must be understood as a limiting operation. It must be seen as redone, as repetitive, but also as cognition, as not being the cog but being the cognit ion. As ionizing not ion but the retrieval of ion. Of questions left unsaid and unanswered. Of the question of which questions to ask. This will always be a true and effective direction. And still our imaginations run wild. We seek to answer: what are we after anyways? Who each will find we all find as one. And what but one finds is but more.