There is no generally skeptical origin.
There is a film that can be watched purely as an abstract
examination of light and space, a simple fusion
we construct of our endurance, our simplest perspectives
exploited by maneuvers, rich depths felt by leeway in the ways
speech maps acts. It has, from above, a thin them; a view
which is stagnant. Two bodies script contrasting plays:
the slow dispersion of the substantive (in its concretion
via treatment, seeming kinship) versus photographic art
in relational equilibrium (the torture of it, plantlike
indifference). One could call it drawing in two voices
only one of which admits that that empathic hand
has its own will and will, in gesture, say so. It’s the same
argument: beliefs, at the time of retrieval, lead to intersticed
togetherness. Allegiance debility—how it is our distant
residence. In prerequisites for motion, nothing violates
our assumptions of normality, linearity, or even
loveliness in variance. Our interiority decomposes
in deference to itself. When togetherness, inside the given
codes of inclusion and representation refelt, collapses
as an activity that is an end in itself, it creates another
code of gross familiarity—we speak and plan the planning of
the utterance while speaking. Mediumistic landscapes
architecture the supposedly reminded at. Scenery:
that part of anything anything won’t relinquish. Setting: 
the way we able misremembered houses, whole worlds
ideal relation recognizes as supposed to, should have. Why not
take me to a concert. Why not secret our concerns
about conviction, its tall, elastic figure. Call it our detachment
misunreadiness, our impulse as impulsion, inactive vacillation 
in the midst of which I call myself a sudden interruption.
Call myself the agent of the first-followed arc in the gradual
unfolding of a simple work. Then a second will reveal itself:
to move and the play; the object which it isolates.
The lightness (or its opposite) of reciprocation rests 
only if we dampen our own amplitude. Combined
inside that sequence, refusing us together, is knowledge,
its circulation, its reinvention as commitment to the one thing
aloneness can accomplish: an acceptance of discovery
as the finding of a something that was already there.
That there is a difference, then, in thinking and believing
without the body, even if the body is just the vocalized
part of our particular day-to-day which enables in us
slow and strengthless growth coming into being as the means
to make one so dear to us disabled, saying: nothing
can be done. I am calling out the name that I don’t know.
I am standing on the body that I see before I dress—
there are two and both pretend—appalled, as if to say
fuck, yes, rain, drown the sick one, either or. I want to watch
stiff limbs purposed in the current, his mass in two halves
gash pale and ungainly as I wave (again, again, it’s me
this time) the happy capsize of a will-less frame.
But I’m a dad now. See? There is only ever one
trajectory. All we do is choose the vessel
which can’t be true. A pairing is a pivot and a fall
made constant by another’s sick volition. Experience insists
that division destroy the character. And yet there is the call
we mention, the ringing not called call but we call name.
Two can occupy the objects factionally various
even if they are reflections. The questioning of origin
doesn’t really question origin, it eliminates the skepticism
wherefrom with its feeling. No words. Not yet.
Always in a picture. The line by swinging back and forth
becomes a pendulum.  But I know that that is only one
way of knowing all our different things at once. And the whole,
when the whole moves, it pretends toward resentment.