22 March ———— Geneva
24 March ———— Bologna
25 March ———— Venice
28 March ———— Innsbruck
30 March ———— Vienna
1 April —————- Prague
3 April ————— Leipzig
4 April ————— Berlin
6 April ————— Bremen
7 April ————— The Hague
8 April ————— Brussels
10 April ————– London
12 April ————– Manchester
13 April ————– Dublin
15 April ————– Paris
17 April ————– Bordeaux
19 April ————– Bilbao
21 April ————– Madrid
23 April ————– Barcelona
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Ktismatics 
I am certainly missing something. What is the Tohu Vavohu Tour?
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tohu vavohu = formless void. Can I get there and stay there without falling into death? The only opening in the universe that’s not overdetermined, where some kind of alternate universe might emerge with me right there in the middle of it watching it expand around me?
The tour: my Seven Creations book becomes a fantastic international success and the tohu vavohu winds a curved string circularly through the continent. The convergence follows along behind like the Red Sea closing up on the Egyptians. Trains carry me through this passage, and I’m sorely tempted to jump the track at Vienna, head for Budapest, and wind into the East whence there can be no turning back. But I go north, then, invariably, West, sensing already that a fate holds me in its unswerving course. Walking along Las Ramblas, knowing that the last link in the chain is about to snap shut, I board the second class coach heading toward France. At the frontier, waiting for the switchmen to change gauge, the understanding becomes irresistible: there will be no more France. Am I to die then in this Catalonian waste, gazing across the limpid azure expanse? Or will I at last be making the crossing to that place of beginnings where the white sky shatters into thin and brittle shards?
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Thanks…I knew the term, just not the tour. Thanks.
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What are you doing on your tour?
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tohu vavohu = formless void
Is this another Seattle grunge band formed in a garage to explore the depression and angst of the postmodern Gen-Xers???
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If you’re an angsty vegan do you eat tofu vavohu?
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What am I doing on my tour? I think maybe I would just show up in the town and see if anything opened up before me. Perhaps the schedule would change daily. Maybe I’d never even make it to the first stop on the tour. In my wake the world would be transposed, perhaps multiply so, but I wouldn’t ever be able to witness the revolution. There would be a series of blind men on the road to advise me, and an occasional sphinx or trickster trying to waylay me. Occasionally I would find myself lodged in a 2-star hotel whose proprietor would have attained some sort of distorted truth-so-called, and the rooms would be furnished with objects of paranoiac impenetrability. In my lectures the women would recoil in horror; the men, enraged, would hurl epithets and other blunt implements toward my head. Inevitably I would encounter myself in other guises, perhaps asking me questions that no one else could possibly ask and that only I could not answer. That sort of thing.
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