Bypassing, poaching

 Possibly one was the last

 to know, a bypass surgery

 involves a rummaging among

 parts for serviceable sub-

 stitutions. What a happy

 allowance of such parts we

 do seem to possess, may be

 discussed better in JAMA

 than here. It is not neces-

 sarily to be compared with

 poaching; I don't suppose.

     Now the poor blog is to be

     subjected to a structure of

     pun which it may not carry.

     We really don't know, yet,

     the tensile strength of the

     medium, much less what its

     capacitance is as a conduit

     under various pressures of

     expression. I have a friend,

     a blogger, who urges me to

     rest, and to write letters.

     If I sent a note, could it

     speak of poaching eggs, or

     of poaching in Renoir? The

     blog does.

I sent up a posting yesterday, having

to do with speculation on taste as a human 

right. According to the blog's host, the

usual hassled suspects saw it, and presump-

tively read it; but a friend happened by and

saw it, and picked it up in the comment line,

and treated it as a note. Is this a pun on an

intimate reflection? I was charmed, and to-

night I took the posting down in modesty, to 

restore it later as I sometimes do.

My surgery does not, any longer, 

just encroach upon the resources 

of the blogging act; it poaches 

from them. I regret drawing ref-

erence to the fact, but I dislike 

the opening image, too, except it 

is perfect for the occasion. One's condition is a good deal like what I would suppose a nightmare to be, should I ever run into one. As happy as I am to have been bypassed, I'd rather be out in the dunes.

Gerhard Richter, 2004