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One might wish to fold oneself up into this fluxkit and disappear into a dark corner until next year comes to beat out the dust and dead bugs.

The smell of wood fire wafts through Austin. Mesquite and Oak scent the morning air in the winter. Tacos by the firepit in the morning. ~later: The smell of the smoke is infused in my clothes and keeps catching up with me and drawing me back to the place of mind I was in this morning.  It is comforting to know that the I am here is also the I was there.  I have some persistence of being and I’m not losing it.  I really was there, I can smell it!

I now recall another series of my own experiences with what may be my own very wild talents. I took no notes upon the occurrences, because I had decided that note-taking would make me self-conscious. I do not now take this view. I was walking along West Forty-second Street, N. Y. C., when the notion came to me that I could “see” what was in a show window, which, some distance ahead, was invisible to me. I said to myself: “Turkey tracks in red snow.” It should be noted that “red snow” was one of the phenomena of my interests, at this time. I came to the window, and saw track-like lines of black fountain pens, grouped in fours, one behind, and the three others trifurcating from it, on a background of pink cardboard.

Fort, Charles (1933) Wild Talents. url: http://sacred-texts.com/fort/wild/index.htm

This is clipped from a travel magazine called Westworld.  It is advertising Oberammergau’s annual Passion Play, performed by the villagers of Oberammergau every ten years.

Nothing was more unlike me than that picture; perhaps I was not better than it was, but I was different.

Jean Jacques Rousseau, quoted in Kofman, S. (1999). Camera obscura : of ideology. Ithaca N.Y.: Cornell University Press.