From here to there. From one to two. From near to far and back again, from a point you have just made in the debate to the point you are about to make.
Some lines exist to separate. Transitions, then are the ways we can move across these lines.
Sometimes they are painted on the ground, in blinding white, wide as a palm, ragged on the uneven surface of the grass at my feet. In those times, it is as easy as stepping over. A quantum transition. At one moment, I am on this side of the line. At the next, I am on the other this side of the line, for this always means where I am, and even if I were to describe some [illegible] over there as that, by the time I cross the imaginary divide, by the time I break that picket line, by the time I move from one state of existence to the other I have done more than simply relocated. I have re-named, I have re-oriented myself in space, I have re-arranged the world into its opposite.
This has become that, and that has become this. One would not think such a simple act could be full of so much rebellion, so voluminous a revolution, but there it is.
More than simply re-naming, it is an entire reworking of the mental picture. It is to upend all that we had known, all that we had familiarity with, all that we trusted, and replaced them, seemingly at whim, with an opposite. A wrongness. A falsity. No, That is not this, that is that, and it shall be that! For to call it this is to begin the destruction not of description, but of truth! Of permanence, of right, of the foundations of society.
For if I can tear down that with so simple an act, if I can remake this into that’s own image with nothing more than a small act of will, what is to say I won’t do it again? What is keeping me from [illegible] my own [illegible] moments in this new universe and striking out again, replacing this new that with another this, remaking this (2) with that (2) and then that (2) with this (3).
For why shall I stop there? Once I have a taste for godliness, this constructiveness, this molding of the world to my whims, why should I stop at three? Or five? Or ten of anything?
I believe it would not do, either, to be satisfied with only this and that and those. Why not change mine? Yours? Theirs into mine and mine into hers? Why not change September into “porcupine” and transition Obscurity into Anachronism?
Why not make red into yellow, yellow into green, and green into ultraviolet? Why not make birds and bees into penises and cunts? Why not lick my lips with your lips? Why not lick your lips with my revolution? Why not milk and honey flowing from the Garden of Good and Evil? Why not remake it whole, of whole cloth, burn the whole fucking thing to the ground and start over?
Why not indeed?