6 février

Dear Xadi

In between the bouts of gray I’m so used to designing. I’ve experienced a strange

yellow. This is not like the one I find when the substances

kick in.

This yellow is far. Is of. Is in the direction.

_____

It seems I have lost the ability to perceive movement. To get a grip on light.

The people in the kitchen. Gangling. Unclear.

Like so. My morning practice continues. I want it to encroach.

I want it seeping into.

People seem to be addressing me with their words

but not. Their bodies.

No one knows what I mean when I say the word body so maybe it’s best if I stop.

_____

I’ll say something equivalent. Like Doudou N’Diaye Rose. This this this. Xadi. He

presses the end of the stick into the center of his palm.

And the jigéén yépp strike. The center of their drums. And sway.

Flathanded. Up and over.

Notice the color. They know exactly what I mean by this.