Word of the morning, fugue. I used to listen the the Preludes and Fugues by Bach and Shostakovich and was transported somewhere. I've thought about the fugue state and I've been in it while thinking about the word, and the state of the world, peripherally. I've imagined automatic writing, or writing in and from the fugue state. I didn't immigrate to this state, I was born in it, I belong yet I never felt a sense of belonging in the State, plainly. In Erik Satie Three Piece Suite I read that the fugue state implies the temporary loss of the subject, from the latin fuga, to flee. Not like in music, rapt in counterpoint. Rather, to flee in place.