January 14, 2006


The first step, probably the most difficult in a practical sense, will be to carve a life-size figure of a woman out of wood. I don’t know where I’ll get the wood or how I’ll carve it, but I figure I’ll work these things out when the time comes.

When the carving is complete, I’ll write on the wood with a fine-pointer marker, describing everything I know about the woman. I’ll have to write very small or else I’ll run out of room, given how much I know.

The next part is unclear. The question is whether I’ll use an ax. This is a problem with made-up rituals: you have to make up everything. Today I lean toward the ax because of how it would engage me in the act of destroying her. This seems important. If I burn her, I remain at a distance from her, less her destroyer than a witness to her destruction.

I should say who she is. She’s not a real person. In a sense this is her crime. Her crime is that she cannot exist anywhere but in my mind. Her crime is that she surpasses what is possible, lacking nothing save for the possibility of existing. Her crime is that I love her and have always loved her, and will continue to love her, even after I destroy her – assuming that a smoking pile of chopped-up wood equals her destruction, which I have good reason to doubt.