If emotion is recollected in tranquillity isn't the result going to be more true to the tranquillity than to the emotion? So, in everything you write there is a bias towards the mental states that bring forth a discursive witnessing, an infection by the gestures that elicit the writer, the quiet and quaint presumption of a phenomenology. Experience is an alternation of divergent and convergent movements, but only the convergent ones leave behind a trace. And of course that witnessing in the convergence has nothing of its own, it is fascinated by its wild counterpart, loves it, envies it, attempts to serve it by imposing its own good manners. And if it didn't do that? If it drew on every kind of accident to ape the bad manners of the real would it be any more honest? Like those materialists who attempt to dissect experience into a stylish chaos, a well-constructed image of the scandalous other of consciousness.