If western opera serves to articulate the transcendence of reason, an embodied praxis of the project of the Enlightenment, humanist philosophy played out through subtle layers of clandestine Masonic mysteries, then the OOFKAUU should be oriented towards describing the (not new but thoroughly revised) mythology relevant to the present, outline a gender dynamic beyond dichotomy, usurp reason from the throne and then continue dismantling the city down below its fundament, to scratch upon the bare earth to rediscover what has been lost and integrate those fibers into/with those strands gleaned from the privileged position in the private command seat of informational history. It seems like a contradictory and hypocritical project to be writing an opera, but I must remember that my beginning is already the end of this other epoch, that I am charting a course already taken, oriented towards the threshold behind which I have already glimpsed even while hesitating to describe. All of this autobiographical autopoietic autopoetic scrawl is the preamble to the more important project still to come: an exhibition of impotence, sacrilege, blasphemies, dire tragedies tuned to absurdly comedic tensions, the acute frequency axis whose crossbeam interference sends shivers through the static spine of modern civilization. Remember that the articulations of this "first act" are a description of the old world, already passed and falling away. The next act will be an articulation of the future.

The burning question: how to reconcile with the other myths, the myths of the other, stories from outside the cannon? ___'s point, the asserted need to think with the multiple heads of Shiva, to acknowledge the other worlds already worlded, the form-languages already spoken. But the problem: how to understand across these T space divides, how to stroll through the shamanic K space, how to integrate these stories into my reality and be changed by them, not merely collect, not merely observe, and absolutely not to dissect upon the operating table! The sterile surgical tableau is opposed to the earthen carbon table: the difference is in the light focus, the tools and their uses, the "logic" of organization and the diagrammatic designs of the mapping, the ergonomics of the furniture towards the body, in the construction integrity of the joinery. MrM locates the wholeness in the body, by inhabiting profound presence, beyond the concerns of the swollen eyes and festering organs of modern man.

The stories extend beyond the words, imbibed in the music tones and textures, the diffusion of optical and haptic patterns, the geometries of the stage architecture, the composure of the orator, the references to being which may not be locatable to Enlightened beings. I must compose a scenario which juxtaposes and explores this variations on enlightenment: the western reason, eastern transcendence, indigenous infusion, anthropological meta-myth. Weave the stories upon my own loom, I am the loom and the weaver.

Karl Ove Knausgård - "My Struggle" - Norwegian writer of longform (3,500 pages in numerous volumes) autofiction : using ones own life details as the fundament upon which a narrative is written. Concerns the meaningfulness of small moments and the meaninglessness of all the spaces in between. > correlated to French autofiction, American identity deconstruction, but seems to relate strongly to Proust's "In Search of Lost Time." These literary references are gargantuan. Also, Alfred Jarry's plays come to mind. I don't mean to compare my own project to these but I might keep them close in order to remember the great license I can apply over my own autobiography. Henry Miller as well (but of course)! All these absurdities of existence - all the meanings and meaninglessnesses - can be wrapped up in a container, sewn upon the end of this protruding swollen worm of words and distorted experiences, mangled and scarred, it grows like a gall upon an Oak, providing distinction through disfiguration, a slow and sophisticated death. The European model of avant-garde processions is a musty corpse of culture, asphyxiating upon its own foul fumes, intoxicated on formaldehyde and ether, blinded by staring too long in the fire, frost bitten and plagued from exposure and negligence.

As I write characters into the future, revise rumination into the past, collect notes from lectures and readings, and pontificate to-do lists for all the small points and huge masses, I wonder how I might apply a system to further process layers of associations on top. Color coding, stylization beyond italics and bold characters, intermingling fonts, radical fluctuations of scale, remember concrete poetry! and the importance of negative space! I must keep speaking forward but the the text can continue to be manipulated as I proceed: perhaps sketch possibilities through new writings and apply the learned techniques upon the rest: auto-historical-revisionism.