silhouette

If you would like to come with me I will be there when I told you, I am walking around writing verse in my head, and I don,t have anything interesting to tell you at all! I,d rather you not think of me! Dear family, today it is very warm in the place where I currently am. The sun is overhead and the sky is the same color as the sweet propaganda of peace. I am laying, lying? down on a spit of beach, the moon is pointed just above the center of the place where enters the wound, and I am thinking about, what am I thinking about? Must I be thinking of something all the time? I wonder what,s wrong,if only it could be possible to feel? Insufferable, really…Chemicals, chemicals, nerve endings that send electricity to my mind, the place inside of my brain, and I receive something that cannot be said. You,re here and I,m not, I am watching as the crash of memory sifts itself confectioners sugar through a fine sieve…seven strikes of a broken match and the body is disconnected not by severance but by suicide,society, and I am suturing! Suturing myself back into my self, while the self that is myself walks down the same streets each day, I look to the ground every now and then, just to make sure it,s still there, red lamp red rug red smile, the poem is getting longer but I won,t ever recite it. I was supposed to speak into a machine, it is a machine not a tool because it uses electricity not of the hand, and the machine would transform my voice, acoustic energy, acoustic is another word for hearing that is naked, into electrical energy, and feed it into another machine that would transform the electrical energy back into acoustic energy, so that you,d be able to hear me, is there such a thing as to be softspoken,but I ran and now all I hold is a piece of paper with markings:: HOLD::::: INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE SHARED DREAM::YOU ARE walking. It is a RAINY NIGHT. The LIGHT OVERHEAD keeps GOING OUT. KEEP WALKING until YOU SEE the lamppost. AS YOU cross the street YOU REMEMBER. A RED LIGHT across from the MAGNOLIA TREE. You are convinced there is SOMEONE BEHIND YOU. Continue. AS YOU stop beneath THE SECURITY CAMERA, THROUGH THE door YOU THINK OF how the only way you know yourself to be is as One half of an unfortunate collision, YOU ARE ONE HALF innocence,guilt. BUT YOU BECOME a VIBRATIONAL SPIN, AND PERHAPS THERE WASN,T ANYTHING ELSE TO IT AT ALL, THAT MAYBE you were dying, AND THAT IS WHY it was SIGNIFICANT..three times un covered respond , respond to me, you,ll never know what it was like, you are trying to know what it is like, bovine skull hangs on the wall long as my forearm, the nostrils, are those what nostrils look like, cavernous tubes. Daikon radish. An underground grape soda train through the airport except it’s really a basement, always underground, and I am in the library again, a banana peel slip on a wooden dock as they carry the coffin onto the island, inside there is a room filled with them,…..I’m working on a character that has run away from home, I’m working on a character that always has a pearl in the sole of her shoe..I’m working on a character that is really very evil, capable of truly evil things, I’m working on a character that doesn,t really know what evil is…I am working on not feeling inflamed, inflammation, conflagration,, and I am reading a piece by Miguel Gutierrez on the relationship between whiteness and abstraction in a canonical sense,,this ability to detach from materiality (stolen) that received and receives recognition in the world of “fine arts”…and I am thinking about what Cathy Park Hong calls the avant-garde’s delusion of whiteness,, all of which asks us:what is seen as experimentation and what is seen as other, what is seen as art or literature,literary and what is not, the word abstract as an incorporeality, a reality that is not corporeal, and I am thinking of the first artist i ever truly loved, Ana Mendieta,,,…the body as printmaker,printmaking..and how abstraction (concept,not canon) is malleable,expansive,heterogenous…how the word abstract means hidden, occluded in some way..without, in another..what is permitted to remain apolitical (which is itself a politic) and what gets politicized,, how all that we produce now must be in service of the world to come…and how I would like to tell you more, there,s so much more to say,so much that,s been said, but I can,t right now, I have to leave the place I am currently in and go somewhere entirely elsewhere, I hope you,ll understand,