What are the conditions of making? To go back into past work. The work builds upon work and takes it apart. The conditions are, in part, singing - phrases such as birds or wind touching across planetary surfaces.
It's hard to escape likenesses even if each surface or forehead is different, or difficult. The existential or the communal doesn't seem like a choice.
The conditions are like weathers, weathers for winning, or losing the thread or for calling up possibilities, might rather than should.
It's hard to see bits of the past that stick, until, maybe, they can be written out, even imperfectly. Written out then set beside.
If time isn't linear, it keeps coming back but changed, ever changed. Ink sometimes is just fleck marks. Change it to pixels and they, too, are unreliable.
That nothing makes sense, like making, and you can make sense of nothing. And that vowels and consonants have feelings: feel them in the medium.