It is difficult to write, that absence. The looking without seeing.An absence which is the same as no name. Anonymous. A writing without a proper name. One which leaves a disastrous gap. An improper perception. Looking into that space there is one true response: disappearance. Here is the structure of a disappearance, an anonymous writing, and the loss of stability, being unable to bring presence to the space of writing. I feel this disappearance, and in that writing space remember myself. Sometimes there needs to be a disappearance, a space that has no name. There is a necessary absence sometimes, for a knowing we are still here. As if what is, has and always will be beyond. Outside the doing and the seeing and writing. There is presence beyond and that is all I know, as if it has always been. And it has. Its being gone, past, has always occurred. And is repeated every time. The inside of loss and the loss of an inside. Recovering these can never take place, and is always going on...