Space (n.) is the widest open of all mouths.
Space (n.) is always upright, whichever way it is turned. For within space everything rests
Space (n.) is immobile palpitations, palpating immobility, pure paradox and magic. For space is magic and not physical.
Space (n.) is Many, not One. If space were One, the soul would have to crumple the body like an accordion in order to find room enough to move around in under the influence of the feelings.
Space (n.) is the air in the balloon of matter, the pneuma of all things.
Space (n.) is time at its most elusive. Like woman, always there even when you’re not paying attention. But as soon as you try to avoid it, space hounds you.