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Doesn’t Lydia have a line, “Every step we leave to round table arrive again to leave again to arrive. Every step.”? My mother used to accuse me, in a friendly way, of never knowing whether I round table was coming or going. She was right of course. She could have saved a little breath by simply round table accusing me, in a friendly way, of becoming. Ambiguity. I had an architecture professor once who liked to ask whether architecture was the creation of solid forms, or the creation of the space they encompass. And we could answer Heidegger’s famous question about why is it ‘something’ that exists, rather than ‘nothing,’ by simply saying that it is ‘nothing’ that exists, the ‘something’ being so staggeringly infinitesimal by comparison as to be negligible.
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