war, the substance of the world is the world it's not autonomic but close driving when close driving across the country in the middle of 100 kilometers ad hour in the middle of 120 kilometers an hour when thoughts become things substances grained and soft like a body wounded by the side of the road or when thought compresses down into the substance of asphalt or concrete you might notice the lines down the road you might notice the lines across them the field turns, turning another field there are fields of wheat and fields of sight you find you looking for a number then you find the number and find you looking there's a crow in the tail of the window there's a word on the radio and a roar the fm station skips roaring in thick chunks the am station fades like the maternal function you're crawling but feel a constant skid it's always like flesh and always like substance you now know that the world disappears when the world appears you now know that the world has always been high speed you now know that life is a slow-down and attention to detail you forget the detail and listen to the noise the noise of the motor is maybe a new noise you worry the noise like exit-signs passing there are foods and lodgings and gases there are nitrogens and kryptons and neons there are carbon dioxides and oxygens you are running down a slight slope and you are running up a slight slope for a moment a thought: there is no thinking in the world, this is a symptom or a syndrome for a moment another: thinking is a virus or contamination the imaginary shuffles beneath the floor of the car the floor of the car is the floor of the world sliding against the world where everything is: grit, gravel, rough and wounded surface i am a vector in this here now car, it's making noise