Murder in reverse

What I am progressively attempting to isolate from the ambient fog of my world seems to boil itself down to a topology of experience. It's a perfectly two-dimensional membrane that cuts like a stray thought through a continuum one might just as well call "Should" or "Why this and not that?", and it's wrapped hermetically around the locus of identification, this thing I see out of but cannot see into. But in fact, and the hell of it is, I do not know this that I purportedly am, and can only know this membrane, this indestructible contact with that which is not me. I am that point of contact, the sum total of those "wounds" of experience that never heal and never exhaust themselves in opening anew. Therefore, if I could map this terrain I might perhaps master this world. A methodology presents itself from experience.

I recall some stupid law and order type TV show from over the weekend where a forensics specialist had made positive molds from dagger wounds in order to determine the type of weapon used... In looking at the wounds I find the weapons; in looking for the murderer I find my Self and realize the choice I made in commiting the crime, and I embrace it, and it's criminal no more.

December 24, 2003