Arianne Zwartjes
[Thinking First]



of an ordinary soccer ball (and here we must consider the human foot) we are given discs which are abstract in concept, though evident in beauty and power. (We might return to Plato, whose claim of beauty: thus revives in us the terror of falling & the emanation of beauty, warms us

and dissolves the hardness around the roots of the feathers, whose growth has long been impeded by stiffness [sclerosis].) And by wings I mean to say grace.

By restricting ourselves to a Euclidean perspective (in losing, the intuitive sense of hyperbolic being) we are straightlined in a sense.

For a long time (mathematicians did not believe) we are furled.


[The question does not]



(shrink as we approach) (a circular boundary) make light or of light.

In moments of pain it was easiest (here is your name) (hold open).

The boundary of the circle is infinitely far away. (Pain is the colour of certain events) the why of our sorrow does not mean ‘by what cause?’ but ‘for what purpose?’ (so I asked over & over) To be the one who says no and is left doubting.



[The effect is unpredictable]



(& timed back to) the way the surface of a story expands outward from a modest beginning. You could call our beginnings modest enough though (generating of effect) it is in time that we come to letting go.

(Mathematicians now understand) that necessity which weighs most heavily upon human life is a necessity connected with time itself; and it consists in the fact that time has a direction (we are moving away from it) (away from what-was-us).


[A zero sum]



Let us now consider (Oh dark dark dark) in similar construction?

Again, we can turn to (each family name) for help in visualization. The vacant into the vacant.

Start with a piece—dark throat which will not reject---hyperbolically, “paper” (cloth would perhaps be a better word) and into the shape of (your) hand.

Just as we wrapped our Euclidean (which seems impossible) now, two sides of opposites to connect. For us (there is only the trying), fence covered in snow and steaming with morning sun. No, consumed by either fire or fire, more, each time you reappear.


[The book says something]



of more exotic constructions (exotic, this word that bleeds) into hyperbolic space.

Just as we can take a piece of a paper and wrap it (the words peeled off onto your face, indelible and hard) we made cones and cones of holding.

The resulting form, pseudocarp, false fruit.

Your body a different one now (we are moving in a spiral pattern: holding) not holding. Other bodies to me, increasing the number of stitches (below the rate of increase: one in every three) still I keep thinking. Your voice your hands. Pseudosphere, how Jelaluddin lost Shams out the door & disappeared.