5. In the midst of reading this book and its possibilities and their usefulnesses, you think that to finish reading this book and then to try to write something with it “in mind” is to try to type while also holding up each point of light in the night sky with your fingertips. Even worse, you think, each of these “things” in this “book” is not a single morsel to be consumed, not a nugget of gold worth its shine, but rather a seed planted, or worse yet, not a seed but a sac, millionfull of spores, celestial bodies of fire, dispersed, inhaled. You are overwhelmed.
6. You think that being overwhelmed is fantastic. (this book is for you)
7. Your options are to wait for the infection to take hold, continue the conversation the book carries on with you or without you or within you, be the text that text writes, or to write1. Or to read2. Same thing. Or to read again, in total, in pieces, in order, out. Same thing different.