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1. Post titles? Unnecessary. No titles, no signature. And a date – do you need one of those?

You would like to write, no one knows where I am. You would write, remembering Joubert, to forget is to follow the course of time; to remember is to resist it. But how to write and to keep nothing by writing? How to live in the space of names without meaning, where no word weighs more than any other?

Where do thoughts go?, Joubert asks. And answers: into the memory of God. Cross out the word, God, or let it stand in for an impersonal memory, the great archive of the world, the memory of stones and of birds. Now thoughts drift like pollen, falling here and there. Words have fallen across the world; thought wanders without thinkers.

2. Balthus: ‘I wanted to paint a dreaming young girl and what passes through her, not the dream itself. The passing therefore, not the dream.’

I wanted to write of a thinking that passes, not the thinkers themselves, nor the content of their thoughts. As though it were possible to think and not to hold – to receive thought as I, this morning, am received by the dawn.

Early morning, the head of the day, and I know I have been seen. I know that a kind of seeing has seized my own eyes, and that I hear what I have been given to hear. A thinking that is too light for thoughts. Thinking without content, as open as the dawn. And that claims your thoughts and lets them rise like fire balloons.

3. Dawn. Gently, the hours praise time, and know its measure. Hours pass. The passing, and not their content. Becoming, and not things that become. Is it enough to surround writing with a border of white space? To cross out titles and signatures? How to carry passage into writing itself? How to become with writing?

Nothing is identical to itself. The world is doubled. Hours pass – and time is doubled. Close your eyes and you will see, writes Joubert. Or let another seeing open in your own. Let the flow of writing seize your writing. Lighten speech.