up about this: the perfect
illustration
does not exist. Just like
unfalsifiable
hypotheses can never
be tested. The best—and
in point of fact, the most
extraordinary—
scene we could imagine
would have to be
something like
an airport at night: only
criss-crossing runways
of featherweight particles
of radiant light; a scaffolding
for creamy, contra-
positive shadows,
and for silences
of pure white—as opposed
to that black variety, since
every soul living
is already staring so
hard at that kind
twenty times
a minute—every time
they blink their eyes.
