DESMOND KON YISHǑU-ZHETIAN

: before the armenian church :

bibles in a row and the truth people demand of them : from them, coleridge is suspending belief like objects hanging in the air, like musk, like smells : they too are bad claims that shackle us to an eternal past : how did the past get so unforgettable? and what remembers, what remembrances? why does home force us to remember only in particular ways? even apocalypses know plot : they plot against humanity because they never revision themselves : they endure ends as if visionary themselves but what vision does blindness afford? what appreciation, what beauty? they are doxa that place themselves within texts : they lay eggs on the air between ladders : who believes in the invisible? can what remains unknown animate itself into truth? have assonance like placebos and so much falsehood, purchase its atmosphere like something stagnant? the air here is not stale though it stands on feet : there is a meter of it around me and it forces aristotle into my head – there he stands like an organ and how it only plays when people play with it : they play with it as they play with me.  end