More after. Spilling over. Landscapes of desires that have outlived their moment. I do not feel, but I know the decription. An afternoon spent practicing the act of handing over. So I exit now. I will measure the dimensions of my world. How do I hold things bigger than me in my mind? What are the limits? Lets see what we have here. We have concepts, we have strands of politics, we have yearning for fullness. A museum out of a slice of time. How does that work? Expansion. Generation. Multiplicat...
Toilets are the depositories of secrets. Private havens for cloaking our relationship with filth. Then again, how much can sophistication hide? Up until the moment we manage to leave our bodies behind and download our essence into the infrastructure, the primitive functioning of the body is part of our story. A part of our crime. As all stories are stories of crime. I often think of the architecture of toilets, how do they have us forget that we are in the public? Doors are not enough, false mem...
The man who lived across the river, drove a small brown car. It was quite old, but was still quiet and efficient. One day this car broke down, and then this man had to walk everywhere. He didn't like using the train, or the bus. He just walked. The breakdown of the car was a pivotal moment in his life. For he was a mechanic and he owned a garage. When he walked, he walked between home and the garage and back. The breakdown of his car was a pivotal moment is his life because he could not fix it b...
We need to shit because we can't come to terms with the crisis at our hands. The real crisis. With everything that we've got going on, we still need to eat to survive. We still need to follow an ancient set of rituals to prepare bits of plants and animals for eating. This cocktail of witchcraft, magic and science that we call cooking is still our only answer. The sun and its radioactive spillage is still the only way we survive. Photosynthesis in plants is the dynamo of all human activity. Anima...
A room is full of people, and you know they are there. But you pretend like you are talking to yourself, but we all know you are talking to presences and shadows. There is an inkling of comfort because it seems like they are all your friends, but your comfort at being a theatre of tumultuous performance is uncomfortable to us. That you learned to talk so well, prefacing six threads at the same time and proceeding at snail pace (talk about staying power!) is not a very comfortable fact. I would l...
