The Question of the Trip

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This paper addresses a weaving-writing; a writing of crooked/uneven lines that make in the midst of no-return, and of failing to constitute a worthwhile consistent thing (object, place, story, room, etc); a writing, a practice, that doesn’t argue or conclude, and that exercises itself little by little (perhaps by attenuating an intensity (toward weakness)); a tending-toward spaces that barely make their presence present, and are, in a sense a letting- come. I take as a landscape/interior, the Coorong (an inland sea in the south-east of South Australia, which lies between where I live now and where I once lived (homes) – a place that’s taking me all my life to see, and that’s in a state of dying. This seeing touches upon an ecology of thinking/making/writing that lightly uses a method of infinity/mood toward inquiry – whereby feeling orients critique or knowing, or letting-it-be, and the said/written is almost- nothing in the hope of leaving-together (the inside with the outside, for instance); and, so as not to embroider too thickly (but rather to pick at/fray threads and unfix views) or cover all the cloth (and stop breathing). This writing, or practice of coming-and-going, is a diminishing writing, perhaps, and a quietness.