Some things and their thingness. And the abstract thinking within which they exist, outside it. The unthoughtness in their being. The becoming of thinking that might crack them, interrupt them, nuance them, make them a subject. The wheel of something, you lean towards it a little or more sometimes, as it drives you.
An unusual phenomenon within some. They are very present and earthly and yet transparent and airy. You can see through them and also see their whole being, its inside and outside. Things like memories, things that like memories. Oh, here is a dear friend, and here a beloved one.
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