kept extensive diaries all life, but unfortunately for those of us trying to get an accurate and complete understanding based on what is at hand, also tore out pages. sometimes a notebook would be edited to ultimately contain only a small fraction of its original length. remaining self-conscious collections of shall we say projections are found between the paragraphs, in the margins, on the insides of the back covers, stumbling forth drunkenly in an imitation of a reflection of a recording of a dance, half remembered from years ago, perhaps not remembered at all. we are denied the full scope of movement, the physicality of progression; too many steps are missing now. these gaps are not always inferred through clues in surrounding sections; self-censorship could be exact. precise. surgical. could be said that did it with a razor. one might say that many such edits would be missed entirely by the casual reader. excised material can therefore only be guessed at, and to do this with any pretense at certainty of restoration or as a validation for preset precognitions would be a mistake. some might say it is a tragedy that so much material has been lost. but without conclusive omniscience we are perhaps permitted a chance at rewriting the time contained in the diaries ourselves, in our own minds: the spaces between phraseless notes filled by songs we sing ourselves. it is of opinion that to assume additional material into such an autolytic archive is to invalidate entirely the pieces that do remain; however: in our own minds we may dance with whoever we wish, whenever we wish, for long as we are moved by the music. of course, regardless of our analyses and actions and inactions and reactions the notebooks will remain as they are: incomplete. closed and filed. &c.