The book is very far along now, ready to go to press. But still there is no title, even this far into it. In fact, I keep forgetting that it needs a title until I write these blog posts. (I always just refer to it as “the JAB book.”) There is no title yet because there is no front matter, no title page, no spine, no cover, etc. So no to place to put a title means no title. Perhaps it is “no title” instead of “untitled.” We’ll see.
The last post about this book talked a bit about the colophon, which has been difficult to write. That difficulty was mostly caused by uncertainty about the form and the length. For awhile I thought that I needed a much longer colophon than I had originally anticipated, and spent days trying to add to it. But then it got too unwieldy, too bloated. So for the sake of the text, of the writing, I reconfigured the form of it. I think the new form (pictured below) is actually much more effective. And the whole thing is shorter, much more “to the point” while still maintaining the “poetics” of the “main” text. Everything always comes together in the end, but it’s important to remain critical and flexible until that moment when it all comes into focus.
Here is some more of the text, from the “end,” but there is no end really, as this thing is just really getting started now:
—what comes next; the world, the world; pushed up and trembling; shabby thing that it is; the morning; and waking; again; here; here; here; here; here; here; like that; just like that; but different this time; this time it’s different; this light; changed; but suspended the same; the color; different now; and thin; congealing; bare; and projected; the objects; the world; the same; lovely just the same; lovely just the same; lovely just the same; lovely just lovely in the light like that; as it changes; as it is suspended; and projected; and above; and folds beneath the hands; always folding; always turning; turning bare and scraping; the text of this; a new scar for every new day; every new day a new scar in this holy book; the surface shimmers, is broken; but there is always this pushing through; always this light; this color; never the same and very rarely different; but it congeals, hopelessly; joyfully in this bursting light; the world is filled with it; unbelievable; it can hold up so much; so much fragility; always there; hanging; about to dream again; about to wake again; the world is filled with it; bare and scraping—
& this is where we can begin, thankfully. The pages of the book turn, turn constantly, like the hands of a clock. The reading of the text is the most subtle, slight turning of the pages. We barely see it. And then when it really happens it happens so quickly. We barely see it. We were asleep after all. And just waking, now, in this new page. But it did not begin here. But it always begins here. We barely see it. We love what we know comes next &
—suffused with the holy work of the morning; unstoppable in the reaching paleness of this light; this home; this page; this work; this home; this page; this work; this home; this page; this work; this home; this page; this work; this home; this page; this work; this home; this page; this work; this home; this page; this work; this home; this page; this work; this home; this page; this work; this home; this page; this work; this joy; this love; this home; this light; this bareness scraping always against the text; this home; these books; these mornings; this morning; this joy; this bursting; this book; this writing; this unbelievable light; never would have thought; this joy; every; every; every; every; every; every; day; love; terror; this joy; this holy work; this holy work; this is the morning; this is the morning; this is the morning; this is how it should be; wants to be; always; this holy morning and this holy work; this pale light and warmth reaching through; this home; this page; this work—
& this is where we can begin, thankfully. The pages of the book turn &