Further Observation Required

April 17

This morning Thomas brought my book to me in one hand and a my half drunk cup of coffee in the other. No longer a toddler. Time… it marches much too quickly for it to truly be useful to anything other than itself. I shall miss this boy once he’s a man.

I'm enthralled at the texture of the paper in this book. I cannot stop caressing its coarseness with the tips of my fingers. Even better is that it takes ink so well. Enough to be bold and crisp but none of the bleeding of a lesser book.

Graphite is nice too. Too nice. It blends smoothly yet the tooth bites back a bit.

Drawing outside in nature is a second home to me. I love the breeze, the sun's warmth and the crispness of the air. It is in this environment that I find myself sketching my first bit that shall fill this book.

While I sit here with the plan to sketch the animals and the plants in my presence I find myself simply admiring an empty book. Noticing the unnoticed will never happen amongst my sketches as long as this book captivates me so.

Nonetheless, I plan to bring it with me each day to my sitting spot near the creek. I surely will discover what it is that I'm looking for. A much needed escape.

April 18

Thomas didn't leave his bed today. Those eyes of his. That smile of his - was missing. For every attempt I made to brighten his day I realize only she -

The rest here in the country will do him some good.

April 19

The oak tree behind the house is as huge as the sky feels on a blue August day. The only thing larger is the number of birds that it holds.

I've counted five or six, maybe even more, different kinds flittering about. Most stayed only for a moment or two, but a few stayed long enough for me to sketch, though they aren't as nice of a drawing as I know I'm capable of. Let's just say it's not my finest work.

I will still count it as a victory that the book is being used for what I intended. The more I sketch the more the world feels as if it were sketched, my world, a world I know better because I sketched it at all.

A world where I have a say, not one from which I was removed

April 23

The skies here are inviting. So much grander than the city. Life here is much simpler. I need the simpler.

The clouds rolled in and cast a shadow upon my whole day. When the sun shines the birds sing all while my pen and paper speak to one another.

On darker days the conversation falls flat.

The wind carried its own tune too. The trees danced and shook the life from its branches. Patterns, nonetheless. But I truly wished to see the animals that brighten my day as much as that missing sun.

Observation requires patience. I suppose I will work on that today.

My son seems to have mastered it already. His pain hides behind a smile as he frolics these beautiful fields.

April 30

Something caught my eye today. Something that I cannot quite detail. Something big, not large, but big in idea, in scope, because I have never seen it before.

I need to be careful not to look into this too much, our rest will be altered and my return will be. Don't focus on this. I can't help but focus on things like this.

I sat near the stream as the sun caught my page just right, but as I sketched I simply couldn't finish. My attention was tending something else, intentionally inattentive almost.

I removed that page from this book. I do not know why. I really love this paper. Why would I remove it? I will not remove another.

May 2

The edge of the stream is where it happened this afternoon. It was not usual, rather unusual.

I trekked across a track along the stream and across the stones, still slippery from a previous rain that raised the water level. It was there as the water's current crept faster and faster lapping across the stones when I saw it.

Movement on the far side of the bank. Not a fish. Not a bird.

I had suspected some kind of animal, maybe a squirrel or another rodent. But the movement without cause continued to rattle about.

I know there was something there. I saw it. I think I saw it. Its shape was hard to see in the shadow but I'm sure I captured it. It's a crude drawing, but I got some ink on the paper. I think it was the same one I saw before.

It left before I could fully finish.

May 3

I had to see it again. I returned to the same location near the stream and let my feet dive into the depths as I marched the murky water today.

It wasn't there. Not the elusive one, but another was, the other one. Not the shadowy movement. The one I drew already.

However, this one did return almost immediately upon my arrival. Synchronization was not my plan, but it worked in my favor today. I was able to observe it for several minutes.

This sketch is better than the last. I have several details that I know I was able to capture, though some escaped me. It moved quickly and then stopped often as if it were listening for me, though I'm not sure it even noticed me.

May 4

It appeared today. Again. I suppose the stream is as much its home as my house is mine. We occupy the same region but its mystery occupies my mind.

Thomas missed it. As he flew a kite high into the sky his mind was elsewhere.

If it prefers this stream, that gives me hope that I can repeatedly observe it. This beast resembles no creature I've ever observed. I do not wish to guess too much as to what it is, but I feel I have stumbled upon an undiscovered species.

I plan to observe it as much as I can. Observation will be my new obsession. Friends admit my obsessions run deep, but this one will know no depth.

May 11

A new beast came to me today. Is it possible that my fields have a collection of undiscovered beasts?

I returned to the stream late in the day as the sun drifted downward, hoping my previous specimen would return to me. However, an entirely new one came in its place.

The Spring rains cleared way for a school of insects to ramble about and brought life to all the lovers of the bugs. All the animals were about, including this new one. Something new is now in my midst and my mind wanders with mystery as if it were a new mistress.

This one is larger and slower, more deliberate, but more regal and casual at the same time. Its shape was unlike the first entirely.

I made several sketches while the memory was fresh before it were to fade.

May 12

The stream called for me again this morning.

The tall blades of grass crunched under my boots as I approached the rippling sound that served as a beacon.

That second creature appeared before I even arrived. I thought I was to startle it upon my steps crunching alongside the stream in the pebbled mud, but it did not move. It didn't notice me. I got close enough to inspect its details like I had never done before. I could see it more than barely.

It disappeared as I sat to make myself comfortable enough to sketch its details about in my book. I sat for over an hour and listened to the babbling of the brook hoping it'd return. It didn't. I saw no sign of it again.

Curiously, that first creature has been as lost as Hansel without bread crumbs.

To the sound of the crickets, Thomas and I skipped rocks in the stream with soothing banter for the afternoon. It calmed my mind.

May 13

Peculiarity has blessed me on this fine day. Since I discovered the second creature, I have not seen the first one a single time. The stream is bare. The grass covers his stance. The breeze dampens his scent. He is missing.

The coarse stone at the bank of the stream, my perch, offers me little comfort on a day where I long for more. Its coarseness digs in and I need to stand.

A coincidence was in the air but after several visits to its preferred location, and mine, I began to suspect there to be a negative relationship between the two. Not negative in an onerous way but in a negating way. As if the presence of one negates the other.

They resemble each other not. They appear at the same time never. And to that I think a peculiar thing percolates.

I will continue to watch the stream and the areas about it to find that thing, those things, that escape this area but never my mind. My mind.

It simply requires patience. A virtue of mine.

May 22

I have not seen a single one.

I feel my arrival time is off by a tick or two. Still though, the absence is strange. Silent. The noise of a raucous stream drowned by the absence of my beasts. Absence.

The location appears perfectly ordinary to the perfectly ordinary. I know different.

Thomas brought his chess set to the edge of the bank today. We sat and played at the lapping sound of the water. Each time he made a move he hesitated and looked for my eyes. He thinks like I do. I see myself in him.

He reaches for each piece before he moves it and then places them back in hesitation about his decision, and then moves it anyway. Just like me. Doubting our decisions. I hope he can move beyond that and find the confidence that escapes me.

May 30

Doubting oneself, if a being, befriends us upon occasion. He'd be the best of friends in times like these.

It's been a while since I've seen my friends and family. No doubt I miss them, but I doubt they miss me. Lest they wouldn't have recommended I come to this place. Maybe they do. I doubt.

I return over and over to my previous notes and my sketches of the beasts that beckoned me, and each day I know what I know, and doubt myself all the same. These beasts befriend me the way my own friends have in the past.

For now I will continue to record what appears: birds, insects, a cloud or two as they form the shapes of the beast that bewitch my mind.

If they return, I'll be ready. If not, the pages will be filled with shapeshifting clouds that my mind sees even with my eyes closed.

June 6

Just when my expectations of seeing them again were near nil a savory bit of life sprung forth from the forest floor near the stream. I thought myself reserved to a simple naturalist bound to observe the birds for all my days. But the discoverer in me is back.

June 7

I called for Thomas across the fields to inspect one with me. As he approached his noise must have startled the beast. It did. I nearly missed it. Thomas didn't even notice it. I gasped in disappointment before I caught myself. Caught his smile in my eye.

Before the creature of today disappeared into the grass along the bank I was able to gain a good bit of sight on it.

Its shape was shapely unlike the other two entirely. As a previous was quick and another deliberately patient with its footwork, this one seemed as restless as rustling leaves on an autumn day, constantly shifting position as if uncertainty was his primary motivator.

I made simple sketches while the details remain fresh.

It's not large, but larger than it appears it should be, shapely even, distinct. Enough so that I know I did not mistake it for another.

June 9

Three specimens at least. Three that I'm certain of. The discovery of which has been troubling me for a day or two. The earlier sightings were real, as real as can be. Three separate beasts, three creatures, cannot be mistaken for misinterpretation. They differ in shape, movement, behavior… oh my the behavior is most definitely different in each, yet all apparently appear near a small stream. Is this coincidence? Or is this something more organized?

If three species live amongst my stream, then there may be many more. Modestly I assume.

This thought both excites me and puzzles, but excites me more than puzzles. Confounding.

My son is equally confused. At least he says as much when I describe the creatures to him.

I've begun sitting longer, meandering more, and staying amongst the bank as long as my endurance allows. I watch for movement as the birds signal me to location after location, spot after spot, and caw after caw. Unusual usualness scatters across the bank and I can't get enough.

It occurs to me that these creatures have been here much longer than I even had noticed. Perhaps this home of theirs has been here for a long time itself and noticing was only a skill I thought I had.

Either way, my observation of the area is now deliberate and dignitary. My patience has its own resolve. Off to find more I will. Or won't. Can't.

June 20

Their absence has its own pattern disguised within it. Each creature appears as quick as they vanish and stay gone for long periods of time. Too gone. Too long.

The first specimen appeared many times and then disappeared into the abyss of the forest. The second briefly became a presence only to be gone again… the same as the third.

None of them return.

Do they migrate? Migration of mind and body.

I have begun noting weather, and time, and any condition I can to see what is to make sense of the pattern of their appearance. Apparitions. Apparently.

They hide?

Birds act as different as possible from morning hours to dusk. Insects are more vibrant after the rain. What of these beasts?

What conditions call them?

June 27

The stream is quiet. My mind is not.

Thomas keeps my body company as my thoughts dance about the day.

July 3

Something is at large. Change is afoot. Something brought them back.

I returned to the stream this afternoon expecting the still that surrounds it on the days of last only to find two new creatures, entirely new, different than before. New. Novel. New. Within a span of minutes. Not even enough time to truly draw them as I wished. Enough time to draw them of course, but not as I wish. I wish I could draw them more, hours more. Enough time is never enough time.

July 4

Another. Yes, another. Near the fence today. Another beast. A manger almost, no, a menagerie of beasts at my behest.

My sketch is less rough than the others, more complete, still a sketch. This one stayed long enough to see well - and further from the stream than the rest.

It moved in short bursts, stopping frequently, similarly to my sketching patterns.

I have begun to number the sketches. They're too many now. I need to keep a proper order. I see at least six different creatures in my records.

July 5

Yet again, two more today.

Both appeared along the stream though not entirely within each other's vicinity.

One showed an affinity for the stones while the other embraced the elegance of the feel of tall blades of grass brushing against it in the breeze.

I attempted to sketch both, though neither really rested long enough for me to capture them faithfully. It's a proper study nonetheless.

The variety among the beasts is becoming difficult for me to track. There are too many. This notebook is a failsafe and a saving grace all in one. Reminiscing throughout it daily and obsessing over it nightly keeps my thoughts in order. Disorder.

July 6

A brief sighting. Just one, but quickly betwixt my attention and my thoughts.

I cannot say with any certainty that it is a new one, or simply a different perspective of a previous entity.

The beasts are arriving so quickly now and further observation has become difficult. Required.

I find myself becoming a sketch artist as I draw with speed less than intention.

July 9

The past several days has seen a remarkably steep incline in the number of sightings. I see them everywhere now it seems. What once felt as rare as a ruby in a sea of green is now as common as an emerald.

A troublesome thought tinkers with me. If so many creatures inhabit this small stretch of land how could I have missed them, failed to notice, failed them?

The streams and fields and large oak have not changed. Only my attention has.

July 10

My attention is now in focus. I've re-approached my approach.

Thomas meanders as much as I do.

I do not remember removing those.

Beast 7 — The Grasken — Drawing 2 Second sighting. Settled quickly. Still difficult to startle.

July 12

There's an idea rattling about that I cannot dispel. Perhaps these creatures do not exist independently of one another. Attachment if you will.

There is a sort of connection between them. Their behaviors differ in ways that make me wonder that there is not a distinct randomness to them but types of them. Though they do not look the same species there's a sort of sorts about them.

If this is true, it's time to study them more carefully. Perhaps they can be organized. Perhaps.

I will examine the earlier sketches with a more watchful eye and

Each time I began drawing, my attention shifted to another page.

I suspect the creature does not influence the observer. It requires one.

Aug 31: The longer I attempt to study it, the more difficult it becomes to remain focused on the page.

Scavenger?… Maybe a Prime. Definitely a scavenger, but probably a Prime.

I will return to this page and complete

July 15

Warm to the touch and smooth as silk, the tall grass near my stream flattens under my backside. I lay with my eyes locked on the clouds and dream while awake. The leaves rustle and make the same sound as my pen to paper.

My notebook.

Pride filled my eyes to the point of a moist teariness to see Thomas sketching in his own book downstream from me. I am filled with joy. He takes after his old man documenting the world about and enjoying the beauty therein. While my brain thinks on the creatures..

The swaying blades of waist-high grass broke before him as he scurried over to show me his bright eyes while handing me his drawing. A damp paper from the splash of the water's edge. A fence. With a huge beautiful sky. An oak tree silhouette on the horizon filled with birds. What a magnificent creation. He takes after his old man.

The number of creatures in this notebook grows faster each day. I cannot keep track, it feels. I lose track of thought as I think about how to track them.

It has been until recently that I have just recorded what I could about each in notes and sketches. It worked well enough, but the number has grown far too much. There are too many. Too many. But maybe not enough. Yet I must change my approach.

Several of them exhibit different behavioral traits, but just as many display similar ones.

Some remain in place for long periods. Others appear and vanish as quickly as time permits. A few seem less attached to locations than to habits, or even individuals. Me?

Some appear only after others have arrived and observed.

Due to this I have attempted to compile a simple list, not a system, as to classify them. For now I have them divided into groups.

Primes — Those which seem to influence the presence or behavior of other creatures nearby.

Habituals — Those which return repeatedly to the same places or patterns of movement.

Wanderers — Those which appear unpredictably and do not remain in one place for long.

Parasites — Those which seem attached to individuals, habits, or ongoing patterns.

Scavengers — Those which tend to appear after other creatures or disturbances.

These are provisional as some do not fit neatly into one or another. Some cross categories. Revisiting previous pages and patterns has made it easier for me to build the categorization and keep track of it all.

Further observation should clarify all of this. Clearly.

Parasites sometimes appear before Wanderers? System uncertain.

Some species appear in multiple categories. Observational error, it is not.

These do not behave as species. They behave as roles.

July 18

The number of recordings in this book have grown too much to easily track. I have begun organizing this book.

I return to older pages and number beasts, name creatures, revise their attributes, delete attributes, find new ones to add.

I've noticed something while doing so.

One beast appears in three or more categories. At first I thought it was a mistake but I now see my sketches lay it perfectly. No mistake there. Why was I thought mistaken?

Several of these display the same habits, traits, behaviors. I am not entirely sure that my categories build creature classes and describe the creatures or if it only affects the way that I notice them.

July 20

Classification may describe their behaviors more than the beast themselves. Though that now seems to have been the point all along. Even so.

July 26

I've noticed upon review that my notes are redundant in places. In some places. Many places. I don't know how that happened. Maybe I do.

I have returned to previous pages many times over the previous days. In doing so I have noticed that certain noticings do not entirely agree with one another. They argue about as quiet little aphorisms but the harshness is evident. I question myself. My mind. The

The sketches remain accurate to the best of my abilities, but the notes that give them company I'm less certain of. At best my earlier descriptions of behavior are seemingly less correct or they've changed, at worst I didn't observe what I thought I did.

July 29

Patterns. Paternal. Another pattern has begun to trouble me. Familiarity. That is the theme. Familiar draws focus.

Certain species appear more frequently when they are studied closer. It's as if the closer you look the closer they peer into you.

The more carefully I attempt to document each of them the more they return. The more they desire to be admired.

At first I thought it was due to the fact that familiarity for each has grown. By bounds. But the idea that chance is to be the adjective to describe 'encounters' seems a bit underwhelming, impossible, wrong.

Also, if a Prime is present the others are left to rest and linger about as if it has its own gravity and they are mere satellites in its orbit. Or maybe a trajectory not that of orbit but of collision.

August 8

It is possible that I simply notice them more now. Now that I know what I'm looking for. That reason alone explains it. It's reasonable. Unarguable.

Several species appear almost immediately after I pour myself over their previously drawn pages. As if each sketch were an incantation and reciting its notes summon them from beyond.

Today I searched for the restless one. The one I've seen several times and have a hard time discerning how to sketch it. Deliberately I searched. I did. Repeatedly I do this. Repeat.

But it found me before I could find it.

I watched the grass where I first saw him wave at me in the wind as if it were saying goodbye. Maybe it was welcoming me. But the entity did not arrive. Nothing occurred.

Then quite suddenly the Varnakel appeared, just as it had before. Same place. Same time. I cannot say that my attention brought it forth, or possibly influenced the sighting, for I was looking for another, but the timing was curious and caused me to question.

August 10

Several of them appear often, frequently. Regularly. Usually.

I am overwhelmed. Overwhelm.

As they return with consistency I consistently return to my sketches and take notes on their attributes. I scour over the pages and find myself within them. My notes I mean. My thoughts I mean.

My son? Ah there. Just over the horizon of my notebook he calls in the distance for me to play a game of chess that I cannot find the time for.

Some appear the moment I begin to search for them. Others remain absent no matter the effort I put into locating them. However, they have each moved more from the stream and some past the fence. Their comfort with me seems to mirror mine with them. They see some of me in them. Natural.

My desk bewilders me. The sharp angles of splinters are less inviting than the stream, but it is here that my mind rages like a wildfire.

The closer I study them the more they appear close to me.

August 15

I find myself not returning to the same spot on the stream but the same thought on the stream.

A thought that intrigues me, envelopes me, swallows me whole: Observation may not be as passive as I assumed. In most natural studies the observer simply records what already exists, but these creatures have behaviors that cannot simply be recorded, reflected, rationalized.

Their appearance is directly tied to the action of noticing them at all. A dog chasing its tail. A snake chasing its, no eating its tail, a mobius mystery. Whichever to be the beginning, the end thus finds. Found. The end is the beginning, I notice, they arrive. They arrive, I notice. They arrived notified. The notice arrived.

August 17

The dim light in my study, at my desk, dulls the mind today. Where is the fire?

Attention influences behavior. Behavior influences attention. Attention: I cannot say yet whether this is the case, but what attention truly exists without behavior attending the attention. An illusion produced by my own expectations. Inspections.

I recognize that Thomas is before me today with a bit of wanderlust in his eyes. The stream calls for him the same it did for me. It calls for him and me. He calls for me.

For now I must continue the observation as faithfully as one can. As only they can allow me. Howl me.

If there is a connection may time reveal it. Lest time itself directs its attention upon their behavior and be forever caught up as well.

August 22

My chair at my desk invites me to sit like my perch at the stream. Less comfortable than that gorgeous stone, this chair becomes a stone all its own. One that weighs me down and prevents me from wandering beyond my study. This room is possessive.

The previous days have been spent ruminating as I've rummaged about the previous pages of this notebook. The sketches are accurate. They remain that way. Somehow. However, I find myself revisiting particular entries again and over again, especially those focused on the earliest specimens.

Each time I find myself upon those pages I feel compelled to add corrections. I put my pen to paper and marks are left in the margin, but the marks are meaningless. Because I resist. I aim for adjustments, but I recant. In many cases changes are not required. In some they are, but I cast disbelief that I was initially wrong. I am not wrong now either, for I simply think things have changed. My attention has changed.

And then I make changes nonetheless. Nonetheless.

August 26

Thomas asks to keep my attention. Keeping. Keeping records of these beasts has become as difficult a task as any. Many of my entries remain unfinished because I cannot quite describe what it is to describe. What I observe.

Loose sheets of paper with all my categories form mountains on my desk now. As I write I notice I abandoned writing in my notebook, a time or two. Too many. I need to fasten these into the book now, and the space for it cannot be afforded.

In the past, I would sketch and move on, then return with notes at a later date. But now hesitation visits me like a soothing mother on an ill day.

The hesitation has created unfinished work beyond the book and those locations now fill with creatures like estuaries nursing the young.

One of them bobbed its head and cuckooed after it recognized itself in the mirror.

August 28

I entered the study at sunrise this morning. I have yet to leave. It pains me to think to leave. I long for the ripple of the stream and cool waters across my face.

Most of the morning, Thomas has replaced the daylight in the sitting chair. Looking at me. Those eyes.

Upon reviewing the pages in this notebook an interesting thought presented itself to me. I recognize many behaviors I have described in these creatures are not unknown to me. At all.

Restlessness. Hesitation. Doubt. Persistent doubt. Persistence. Obsession.

Is it possible that

This must explain how the observations breed familiarity with such ease.

August 30

As I pour over my earlier conclusions I realize my conclusions conclude. I think. Those conclusions include thoughts that I no longer feel as solid as one must to feel that of certainty. Certainty. Breaks.

Some species appear to have behaviors that differ from my first conclusions. Occlusions.

Whether this is an error in my observations. It's not, or a misunderstanding. It's not, is now up for debate. Debate.

I have marked many entries for further observation in order to conclude the previous conclusions with new ones.

Concluded.

I cannot clearly see its form.

But I have the persistent impression that it is watching the attempt.

There is also a strange sensation that it may be smiling.

Feeds on abandoned work and neglected drafts. Rarely considered dangerous.

September 2

The creak of the front porch door drew my attention for a minute. Then the slam sent me back.

One task, two tasks, all the tasks, none. If it's more than one my mind cannot tend to it. And if it's any task other than this book it no longer exists.

I write, I compare, I contrast, I compile. Completely inadequately.

One contrast leads to another comparison which itself leads to another. Oh bother.

By the time I return to the original page I have forgotten that I didn't finish another one that is the actual original. The details of each are forgotten before they're recorded. Re-recorded. Recollected. Forgotten.

Each evening of the last several nights I sit under candlelight and dig into certain portions of this notebook like a miner wishing the canary to fall. But it never does. And so I carry on. Onward.

The pattern I noted in the past plainly persists. Persistently. Patterns. Always.

Certain creatures appear immediately after I observe their pages. At first I believed I trained myself to simply recognize what I was looking for. Now the certainty is gone again. It will return. It always does. Unless it doesn't. It will.

I cannot dismiss the timing. Something's amiss. A miss.

Maschenkel sightings seem to coincide with the sudden disappearance of several other species.

Feeds on abandoned work and neglected drafts. Rarely considered dangerous.

September 8

Today I played the role of an experimenter. I donned my coat and walked into my laboratory of greenery at the water's edge. I know who I am.

At the ready I decided to think thoughts about a particular single species instead of waiting for just any to appear. I focused my attention. Tentatively. Attentionately.

I studied the sketch of it before going down to the stream for hours. Then, within the hour, that creature appeared at the bank. It only remained briefly, but long enough for me to conclude the experiment. I definitely know now that there is truth to this theory.

I do not know whether this result has any true meaning. Confidently. Coincidence is difficult to ignore. Confidently coincidental.

September 10

Hesitation. Now I hesitate to record the thoughts that occurred today. Hesitation.

If these beasts respond to observations so clearly, then I simply cannot assume that studying them is as passive as previously pondered. Pretentiously. I ponder. I wonder.

In most natural studies observers observe, record, regardless of rendering. But these animals do not obtain the status of ordinary. Ordinarily they would. Ordin

They notice me noticing them, and the noticings are becoming more noticeable.

The finished drawings seem to disappear from my attention, my mind, my memory immediately being reminded that they exist.

September 12

I cannot dismiss it. My studying brings their presence. It does. I live it. I see it. I know it.

I'm troubled by this far more than I'd like to admit. I can't admit it. But it's true.

The notebook. The paper. The texture. The warmth it invites holds cold notes that influence, tinker, and shift the events it records.

Say it isn't so. So it is. So be it. Hopefully I'm wrong. I'm not. So be it.

September 14

The more I look, the more I see. The more they see me. The more I see them seeing me too.

Several species that I had previously observed only once or twice have now come to me. To hear me. To see me. To be with me. To heed me. Need me.

The boy has been quiet today. Oddly gone.

I know I'm just aware of them but the frequency they appear is clearly increasing. It continues to climb. Their arrivals climb high. To a level I know all too well.

September 17

Attention influences the creatures, thus influencing the book, thus influencing me. But now I conclude that my actions alter their attention and influence them too.

The more time I study the more they seem to become active, more so active. I'm actively influencing them while they are influencing me.

I had hoped that careful studying would clarify things needed, but now it appears the opposite is true. My mind is as murky as the stream the day after torrential downpours, muddy. Murky. Unlike that, the muck does not wash away. Away. Away. The silt of my mind lasts and impairs my thoughts, and conclusions, and calculations, and conclusions, and concludements, and it seems that my system has produced the opposite of my intention. Attention.

September 19

I returned to beast 12 today. It remains incomplete. Unfinished. Thankfully.

why can't I finish this

It does not feed on unfinished work.

It produces it.

September 23

I sketched a specimen today. I attempted to. I intended to.

It stayed present long enough for a pass or two of my pencil to paper. Paper. But I stopped halfway through anyway. Something about the proportions piqued my interest in a negative way. Incorrectly coherent. I began to sketch again on another page, but it lost me in the fields. That attempt was no better than the first intention. Unfinished both remain. The calmness of calamity caresses me.

The entities that are incomplete in this book outnumber the complete. Completely.

My intention to return never fails, but the return does not always mean I will attempt to set to any completion. Inarguably. I instead intend to initiate reconsidering. Considering again the earlier pages. Those portions. Protractions.

Progress is slow. Regress. Progressively regressing. Unfinished Incompletion.

The desire to be corrected, each page calls me

September 26

There it is again. The stream. My laboratory. My sanctuary. My home. I did not see it today. I planned to, but my plans got interrupted by a day spent rereading the early pages of the notebook. They're insufferable. I suffer. I suffer reading the words that I know I did not collect correctly.

But then those same creatures return. Return.

September 30

The sketches suffer. All of them of recent feel rushed. Are rushed. Rushed into the trash heap of defeat. I cannot keep pace with all these beasts. Creatures. My creatures. Oh the despair. I fear I do care, more than I can bear.

The drawings are abandoned before they abandon me. The frustration is palpable and I can taste it.

And yet the act of finishing has become as demonstrably onerous as the act of not finishing. Finality.

October 1

The home is oddly quiet. Absent. Oddly.

Revisiting again. Again I am here. The revisits remind me. Reprimand me. Oh the repetition.

Certain patterns noted in the creatures occur also in these very pages. Repetition. Repetition, Hesitation. Unfinished work. And what to make it of it all. A concoction of my mind? I doubt it. I know it's not. I might know it is. I do not yet know what to make of these circumstances.

I am beginning to suspect the ecosystem does not exist in the field.

October

Habitat. Habits that hold you close to home. Homely.

Initially I believe them all to be confined to the creek. The stream. But they moved the fence, and now it seems they are vagabonds. A long line of trails come forth from the water and they migrate to my very own desk. To my unfinished pages. Tools left about. Reflections in windows. And of course my thoughts. My attention.

Oct 8

I can no longer tell

Appearance and attention. Intricately linked. Then distanced they become until reunited like lost lovers destined to be together.

The habits of the book now habitually finds their way into mine, habits, own observation of me. They have gradually discovered away into myself. My habits. Its habits. Those habits. Mine.

Observing observation breaking is a heartbreaking event. Evenly. Evently. Now I know myself considering this creates a different possibility. Impossible. My observation renders what I see differently because I'm present at all. Always.

October 13

Where does the cycle begin? Cyclical thinking. Repetition. Where does the cycle end?

October 15

Studying is an obvious precursor discovering clarity. Clearly. However, I've reached the point that further study produces more ambiguity. Ambiguous clarity.

The method to find certainty delivers only more uncertainty. That I am certain of.

It is time to leave this notebook as it stands.

It may be unwise to continue observation. It is best. It is ideal.

October 18

In consideration: Abandoning the notebook before it abandons me.

I left it at rest for hours today. But before the light of day was spent, I spent the remaining light outside dappling through the pages.

The beasts do not require the book so much as my attention. And attention is costly to stop once it begins.

October 20

Many sightings today. More than many. More than usual. Too many.

The stream found me today drifting in my stream of consciousness while day dreaming about collecting the creatures. I notice them and want them in my zoo to keep tame. Or not. Let them be free and roam like the majestic beast of yesteryear. I fear. Too many.

October 21

The environment itself has not changed.

Only the work. Only the attention. Only me. Who knows who they are?

October 23

I had meant to stop writing.

They are not confined. Confirmed. They are not confirmed.

One was in the yard this morning. Another near the porch. They are closer than I recall. Recant.

October 27

I cannot stop. Stop thinking about them. Stop.

When the book is close I find myself reviewing sketches in my mind and lip reading the notes. My breath warms the cold words and they live again all while the book traps them.

I thought I was classifying them aloud, but now I think my words are classifying me. Revising me. Reminding me.

October 30

Everywhere. Here. There. Each and every where. Where?

There they are. All of them. At least four. Then Five. The number grows.

I cannot track this any longer. No sketches are accurate. No pause long enough. Moving at snail's pace is far too quick to be helpful. They're all too quick. Or perhaps I am.

November 2

I looked for them today. I left the book behind. Then they all appeared, ravenously invested in the book of which I wish I had brought.

Maschenkel cannot be classified. It is so. So be it.

The system assumes creatures influence behavior but now I think they influence the system and thus me.

It cannot be classified. He. It. Cannot be classified.

Always a smirk. A smile? That jagged line where a smile should be.

November 5

They are responsible. They summon one another and take their presence presently. Their movements are far from accidental. Orchestrated. Exhibited definitely. Decried. I cry. I weep. They join in with me.

More. More have joined me. Joined. Did I join, or did they join me?

November 12

They move beyond the stream now. Move, Moved. It flows beyond the fence and up to my doorstep now. Now!

November 14

[Not in notebook: The original line here was partially illegible. The following is my best rendering.]

I believe my obsession fuels theirs. Their. There. Their eyes follow me. Their footsteps echo.

[Not actually in the notebook:] Their attributes linger. I linger. I pulse. I pause. My obsession folds in on itself. And here now. They're here now. There. Here. They're.

November 16

They appear. Disappear. Appear. Peer.

Am I the one being observed? Absolutely not. Almost true. Absolutely.

November 17

There are too many. Too many. Far too many.

November 18

I should stop writing.

[Not in the notebook: This is my last entry.]

November 18… again

I will stop after this entry.

November 23

Just one more observation.

Nov. 25

Just one more.

Nove 30

Just

Dec 3

Specimen: Maschenkel

[Not actually in the notebook: finally]