the work in progress as such --

    where the architect of this endeavor was trained as, and used to practice as a regular one, but converted from bricks to words, unable (like the great Louis Kahn) to see what's wrong until it's built here on the site at full scale, and with the authority -- salaam salaam great architect, whatever you say -- to order demolition and reconstruction of the parts or, in this case -- it's happened before and it could happen again -- the whole edifice -- as edifying as a gothic cathedral before that crystallized literature as such was killed by the printed book. More precisely, what usually happens, to date, is that I build a new part that answers my objections to the old part, but then I'm too attached to what works in the old part to tear it down. Optimally I'm able to remove the defective part and keep the rest, to avoid repetition, but sometimes it's stuck in there and won't come out, and I think, well, these precepts are sometimes hard to hear and bear repeating from another angle. 

The taste of fresh carrots right out of the garden is certainly worth the perils of roaming around a construction site.  Fortuitously as the architects in question are not proud of their inability to correct a thing before wasting the resources to erect it exposed with all its faults to public view; and the architect with this grand plan probably will die before getting it right enough to leave it alone.  But better to conceive and fail to accomplish a grand plan, than to succeed at accomplishing a less than grand one. That would just be to add another thing to the grand pile of too many things.  ***While (yes you've arrived at the right place, good work!)  all this means that if you want to read this, you better read it soon before I tear it down, possibly, it doesn't mean you do well to skim it or leap across paragraphs or rush the reading of each individual, consecutive word, as required for both comprehension and enjoyment, for reasons elaborated below and as is obvious on confronting the carefully considered, often convoluted ideas. Also all these seemingly nebulous thoughts seeming to do little more than pull in the reins are each and every single one important to build what it finally adds up to, including some specific, quite generally applicable wisdom and truth never before revealed from this critical angle, such that you don't want any loose screws in the foundations.  We need to build this as if it were a mail order airplane we need to  assemble to escape from the desert, which essentially it is. 

The task of reading the entire document introduced, including all the introductions reflecting and anticipating its essentially introductory nature -- as the present that it reveals is gone the instant it stops introducing itself -- at an appropriately leisurely pace before it possibly disappears can probably be accomplished, it just requires some consideration and planning as to how to break down the task into doable increments. If after accomplishing an increment, you confront later in the day -- or the next day or week, however you've scheduled the increments -- an addition or a part has disappeared, just take it in stride. To reorient on a day things may look different perhaps just repeat the reading of a part to get you started the next time you read. *** Repeated readings yield novel fruits. Though I doubt it, you may or may not complete the whole before it possibly disappears, but "all the way to heaven is heaven." Don't get me wrong. Returning to the point made elsewhere, it would indeed be a loss not to arrive, and possibly the way to heaven is not really that if you never do. 

Suzuki, the great zen master who wrote so beautifully and never worried that he never achieved satori also, as Slavoj Zizek points out, served in an imperialistic military campaign claiming that the bullets just shot themselves. I can't but speculate that he must have deviated somewhere with so much practice always to move so gracefully on the way but never to arrive at anything but such a gross misinterpretation.

 It's important to remember though, that caveats are not reversals, just clarifications of, and limitations on, what's previously been proposed.  This highly subtle point has generally gone the alarming way of the grammatical, as well as ontological -- the two are inseparable -- distinction between subjects and objects in alarmingly disintegrating public discourse. 

-  though, all that said, as it might this very day be the second day of Christmas, and I might have a present for you after all! -- merry Christmas! -- and if it really is, it would be so appropriate, it's hoped that that signifier, work in progress, with the parts of the subsequent elucidation applicable only to it, is swiftly evolving this very day from a signifier of the state of the text, to the text's participation in and elucidation of evolving nature in awakening consciousness -- the lions having recently trained the trainers to lie down with them instead of whipping them, say -- with the progressive correction of earlier models in the progressive revelation of ever more original particles of interactive being that is the nature of the living always novel present to which the truly novel novel, which is prophesy when the numinous names have not been changed, is quite transparent -- as I actually manage, before the raven rapping at your door, beloved, quotes nevermore, to bring myself, your poor Lenore, to wrap something up, turn over the progressive, tearful unwrapping of this infinitely peel-able onion in which you can read the whole rapt present, to the reader, that signifier, "work in progress", in this case not yet affirmed as I write here, swiftly coming to signify nothing specific, literally dissolving right before your eyes. 

I say not yet affirmed, as, though I do believe I managed an immaculate conception, I'm not saying I'll be able to accomplish  a virgin birth, and if I am doing so -- aaaaaaooooo! -- as my literary father did, I can't guarantee I won't take it back; keep in mind how unreasonable if not downright deluded it would be to expect a major blip in so long a level graph coincidentally to register on what might be the second day of Christmas. (Though he gave me up for adoption, after not even noticing the pregnancy after that endless gang bang of my ecstatic, unknown mother by him and all those literary giants, he was so busy writing, and I had no idea we were related until others noticed a family resemblance, and then I saw it, though there are so many features of others I sometimes wonder if something supernatural didn't happen that night.  In any case, I could use his kick of testosterone, but then again, with that hard drug coursing through his veins, he couldn't just lay back and go the distance in languishing in language and let the circle close of its own accord, it's already doing everything he was doing to it when you listen long and lazily enough..