If you’re in the mood for a manifesto

From my forthcoming book, How Is Travel a Folded Form?:

 

Manifesto

Cotyledal is a brand-new word. Our directions: how the map lost its border; how the ubiquitous frightens the edge. Proscenium. Harvest. The measure. How atmosphere gradually fades. Flame and seeds both are periphery.

The triangle is stable when it sits on its bottom. When the river blends into ocean it also causes land to blend with water, depositing silt. Delta means change. The triangle teeters on one point, lands heavily. Lands like a body. A spreading mouth.

Icarus overreaches the unmeasured and so does the atlas or the pointing finger. Deltoid is a “triangular muscle that covers the shoulder joint and serves to raise the arm laterally” and delta wing is a “triangular swept-back airplane wing with straight trailing edge”.

Thus, we hereby identify muscle, silt and jet. We hereby pluck the triangular constellation’s three corners out, each to its own, in lonely jars. We hereby topple the landmark and halt the treading thereupon; we splash water on these three—Body, Land and Machine—so as to check for temperature.

We hereby declare ourselves lost.

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