I’m absorbed in production on a large scale. Very active. Lots of energy.

At one point, a young and very self-possessing male—quite pronouncedly dressed with an accomplished pompadour, young but also not so young, rather, non-aged, perennial—places himself in a chair before me and we start to talk.

I become aware that I am the producer, and I inquire if this man is concerned with music.” He nods. Then I ask: “You are a musical director?” Again he nods and I say, “You are a composer?” Another assent, which prompts me to comment, “You are exactly who I’m looking for….We’ve got everything going here,” I say to him, “except money… I have no money…” I look in his face to see if his interest has fallen, but it has not…

A woman, who clearly knows him, perhaps works with him, and who is non-aged and fully aged as he is—joins us and has heard what I just said. “But nothing will stop this production,” I continue, “until it is stopped…We are going to go forward…”

It is clear that they have read the situation all along and—for whatever reasons—have decided that they are “in”…

* * *

Later, on another day, I am in the large city where the production is happening, and I am in a breakfast spot, my “usual,” where I feel much at home and am the earliest customer. I light a cigarette—though I am aware that I do not smoke. In this instance, I allow myself to connect to the sensory experience of the tobacco smoke…as if it is incense from a long time ago. It is consoling, as I glance through the morning newspaper, street-folded, and gather my focus for the day.
* * *
As I wake up, I see the ragged cornice line of a row of city buildings, in some decline. The phrase comes to me, restlessly freeplaying interests as a definition of [capital]. I can imagine invisible eyes, in aggregate, scanning the city-scape, disembodied hoverings, rushing about like a movie camera—relentless dollys, trackings, steadicam angles, inquiries, pursuits.