LIST
1. I document to remember; to create a moratorium for the things I hope to forget.
2. Ask: if one stopped, would one still know how to feel?
3. Single out: REMARKS, RECOLLECTIONS, RESULTS, OUTCOMES, ET CETERA.

WRITING DOWN
There were three rooftops scattered about Iowa State. One was by far the best, on which every kicked pebble was instantaneously transformed from tar-covered stone into gold. For a brief period there was no separateness and no aloofness between the rooftop and the lights. If you stretched your arm out far enough, you could reach the sidewalk below, the stillness of the streets, and the white roses parked beside those streets. The air lifted itself through windows and building carcasses; the emptiness of the darkness did not weigh heavily inside of you. There was never a time limit because eyelids closed only with delight. But now there's not much more you can do but look out. Stated in the sleepiest script, there is distance on the map, even between words. Again, step back and down, and down again. Off of a curb, close eyelids slowly and open them to see the lightening screaming. Screaming with faces bent and hiding. This time the objective is to outrun, to really stretch legs out far and fast enough to get away, without warning, just barely feeling the bite of the stones beneath your weight.

TUG OF WAR
See the blunted empty, empty countryside?
What I can see is the flatness. All I can decipher is this flatness,
and the gentle shift of planes.
These drawings are invented backdrops and exercises in design. They describe desperate notes and paper lacking depth.
What a timorous system to verify want.