I am envisioning fine art prints being made from the libretto text, and the notes-of-self, and the notational poetry, and other texts. Prints made of the diagrams also. Prints on fine paper positioned in frames hung on walls. Prints on banners stretched on poles or larger frames fashioned as walls or dividers or hung on the side of buildings or scaffolding. Prints on cheap paper, various medium to large scale, wheat pasted on walls around the city. Prints on cheap paper, various small sizes, distributed as leaflets at public or semi-public events. Prints on various papers sent through the mail, to people known and unknown, addresses I already have and addresses yet to be discovered. Prints on quality paper left in quality attention zones, especially while traveling: gas stations, lavatories, posts, rocks, special places, secret zones, collection sites, demarcations of sacred space. Prints on fabric left behind to designate territories - not to claim them but to contribute towards their coming-into-identity. Prints writ large and placed in plain view. Prints made small and distributed through secret conduits of intimate relations. Prints for specific individuals. Prints for specific publications.

I am envisioning a curtain, a cloth, a textile woven of time-space-continuums. A textile collaged from collections, pieced together from disparate parts, assembled into a whole, unified through attention and process. A symbolic textile, a room, a womb, an incubator for being, a representation of the cosmos, stars and all, everything and anything and nothing. I am imagining collecting orphaned pieces of cloth and sewing them together by hand, with a machine, with adhesives, with layers of batting, to be thick and heavy, uneven, variously textured, like the surface of the moon, or the surface of the earth, or the surface of skin having endured a life of experience. Perhaps I am conjuring a series of curtains, curtains of different hues and tones, textures and surfaces, mattes and sheens. Before these curtains all will be revealed. By these curtains all will remain hidden. Behind these curtains only I will see and be seen. Outside of these curtains are infinite representations of entropy.