Augury

The first day of the new month. How did that happen? Too busy, though I noticed from my office the evenings were getting lighter. Too busy, though and if I have an hour free in this bright, clear morning, it has already been gathered from itself by the coming day. Then scarcely an hour free, but preparation time; no free hour, but the time to bring myself to the beginning, as God gathered himself before the creation.

But isn’t there a time when, as Bataille writes, ‘a god does not busy himself’? To be that god, or, like a god, the sacrifice whose stomach has been cut open and innards laid out glistening before the day. To have the secret of the future in my innards! To let others read the future there! But if, like one of Mishma’s runaway horses, I slashed open my belly to the sun, they would find nothing hidden inside me, nothing to read.