What it means for the rhythm of every season to have been permanently reprogrammed by self-estranging years in a city on the opposite end of the earth—having been looking at plum blossoms popping that day because of it—I'm writing this out of step with the actual, having been paralyzed on the 11th—and for the trauma of the Kobe earthquake to have permanently changed the relationship between feet and what they purport to stand on, stamping out—and to gape paralyzed at the floods carrying fire posted now from the cradle of this far composition, o-hanami evanescence trained to be treasured, dawning at once and again as wholly unethical, to be here now instead of there, or as another severe lesson in contingency.