The task of inheritance. It’s hard work for sure. Hard work to inherit, to take in the mother and father. I wonder if they are heavy or awkward. I think I recognise a bit of them in me sometimes. Perhaps the work is in the selection and rejection of memory, the endless trying and copying and just-missing-the-point. Just missing the exact. Receiving but never quite possessing something of the other, always a memory that is abstracted, shaken and imperfect. Will inheritance always be a failure of memory; too many errors to be a match, too many errors in the action of taking-in the other and becoming one not three. Too many mistakes to leap over memory into the other?
(Ramming earth is hard work. A dumb, entropic activity of ordering matter).