When I was already on the verge of losing consciousness, as the scattered, bacteria colony-like patterns below circled nearer and nearer, I suddenly realized that their components were unfinished houses, their faintness- the flying snow which I could also now distinguish, each snowflake- ۞, ʓۗ , but their disarray- it was still nothing to me. The disarray recalled something I could not yet place because my eyes were focused on the array and my mind understood only the quadratic arranged blocks of Europe that it had grown accustomed to, blocks of rooms of trees, all this still ϗҸ along the lines of linear time, and to see in detail what was before my eyes, to see it truly, I had to recall the same non-linear fragments by which someone else, and not I, thought. Only then could I try to project that upon linear time and see everything and myself as it really existed. As of now, I saw blurred fragments, I was too high up, I talked to God, was a foreigner to the snow, “ ۗ, Ғ , because I saw chaos through the lens of order as the airplane circled to the ground, and I wished I could have both lenses side by side at the same time. The dizzying, nearing circles of that chaos were making me nauseous, because they were not yet mine. And once they became mine, I would lose sight of them, I would dissolve in them, in the shacks, the snowed over pines, the electronic lines and towers mixing with the birches, in the white apartment tower boxes and their flickering windows which I, thinking in terms of time and not yet fragmented space, mistook for something else.

But if I could, in that moment when I switched and began thinking in terms of space instead, reconcile space and time, then the plane at hand would no longer resemble a paradox, then Achilles ԕϗҝ •, ӓ , ۔• ӷ ̖ Ӕ - . If I could only grasp on to and not let go, tie together at the very instant of transition, of touchdown, my masculine language with my feminine, English with Russian, time with space, then I would understand and be able to conclude the theory I had been working on for months now, then I would neither be confused by the hazy chaos below now nor later overwhelmed by the weight and mass of its reality, for reality was only the product of time and space.

. Ғ ڸ ۔ Ӓ, , ԕ’Ҹ , ”- Ӕ, ̓- , , Ӓڸ ԕθ̚ , ۓ , ۔ θ , ۔ , ӕ ҝ ԕ. ” • “, ۓ ԕӷ ̚, ڝےҸ ۞, ӕӓ Ӓ , ԕҸ, ԕڕ •Ӓښ ڕžԕӓ̚ Ӓ ԕ, ” θ, ( “ ) Ӕ , ӕ ۯ . ԝڸ Ҹ Ғ ԕ˒ —, ˔ ԕ θ, Ӕ’ ˞ ۜ ڒڸ, ˜ , , ˜ ڸ , - Ҝ ԕž- “- , - ڕ̚ ̞˗̚ Ӕ Ӓ, . , , , ӓ .

•” “Ӕ̝ —ۜ ӓӔ, •ە Ӓ, —• ·θ ʔ. ӕ ϝ - ԚҸ ڸ, θ Ӓ ҝ’ , ̝ڸ ڕ̚ Ӝ · ԕڕڒ̚ ԕ, ӓ ڸ ˞ , ˷ ϝ Ҹ , ԕҞӔ. Ҹ ڸ ϝ, Ӓڸ Ϛ ӕ ԕ ӕ ϝ- ԕ Ҹ, Ҹ ԕڕڒ, ӓ, ӓ. •, Ҹ ۜ, ڸ ۜ Ғ , ڸ.