Imagine them, the archives. Imagine a waterfall so high, its waters blow away before they reach the ground. Imagine clouds melting into the air (Gide, in Fruits of the Earth). An archive of wood, of trees. Let the trees read. Let the wind turn the pages and light fall on them, and the rain.
Imagine it: the archives that lose everything, that keeps nothing. That is the place where things are lost. ‘You’ll never see them again, all the things you’ve written’. – ‘I know’. – ‘Never read them’. – ‘I know’.
Say to yourself, I’m lost with them. I want to lose myself with them.
Lars Iyer's Blog 