Easley, Anna, Quelita, Eric Fischl, Joshua, Kierkegaard & Jean Luc-Marion on Falling (the trip of Ascent):

 I have a fetish for falling.

How clowns do it, how lovers do it, how poets fall down words accidentally.

How characters in silent movies fall down wells, how birds fall down like leaves from trees (before they rise triumphantly).

I relish the moments I fall. I've fallen down stairs (many times as a child, occasionally as an adult).
Two days ago my friend Easley fell, skipped by accident actually, down two of my stairs just as she was complimenting my house.

I fell in a step aerobics class once and somehow finished the rest of the hour. 

My shame was greater than my hurt, until the next day.

Recently I've taken to falling up. 

I wrote this in a note to Anna recently when I realized I'd been photographing the act of falling up as well.

Falling up in the sense of seeing. Being able to turn a photograph any direction and see it dimensionally.

Confusion in the second of fast framing that it takes to, for instance, photograph the shape of a wave disappearing on the shore.

I spent the better part of Sunday with Quelita. We took a few photos down the street from my house, in front of what was once a colorful corner market but is now one step from petrified -- still colorful and full of beauty if you can prevent overlooking it. I gave her my camera (as am want to do) so she could shoot a few photos. I showed her how to make a double exposure, and she made numerous good ones. But one of them was different from anything I've ever made.... I felt visually compelled to fall into it, without knowing which way fall would be.

Somedays this is what I want to make. Falling up and into and down over. 

Less momentum, more awkwardness. 

Tumbling without curve appeal. 

Not only the fast fall of Eric Fischl (though yes to those as well) but the trip-over-my-own-visual-shoelace.

Here's what Joshua wrote to someone else (voyuering, as I was), and I can't decide if it's the opposite of what I mean or the exact:

The ascent for Kierkegaard (and this might be a misread) is the movement of infinite resignation, a trampoline leap into the infinite that makes a choice. The knight of faith, by contrast, is so resaturated by the world that one may have difficulty in distinguishing her from, in K's words, a bourgeois capitalist. Thus, faith is not simply deciding for the universal (resigning oneself), but is instead bearing the anguish in uncertainty. In Jean Luc-Marion's language, bearing the abandon with no assurances.

I want to uncertainly bear the anguish in uncertainty, a stumble instead of a leap.
A constant state of 'and this might be a misread.'