Coherence is a construct. The self observes boundaries, claiming them as trueattainments, home, person. Take them in turn. What he has attained: Did he not fall into the possibilities open to him, and did he not follow the image and urging of others in meeting them? His home: Does he not live just as surely within the room far away where he was inspired, and on that street still farther where he laughed? His body, his property: Age will take one, entropy take all. He is eroded. The wash of remorse, lost joys he could not help but lose, makes the fragility of the construct plain. The self decoheres. Ego’s triumphant gold loses luster, fading even to translucence, and in this last fading he sees something. He glimpses something, though he loses it again in briefly gathering more gold. He is coming undone. He is becoming.

Kazimir Malevich, Yellow Plane in Dissolution, 1918