




I discreetly increase the awareness of your own body in this space, feel free to individuate myself as a key focal point in your reception. Depart from an accepted standard.
Condensed interiors make for frequent minor bruising. Especially in the folds of arms and knees. Small discolorations in shades of greens and blues.
This is something observed. As a result: A method of molding, a ledge of rock or protruding strip of land.
I’m on the periphery. I skirt around the circumstance. The paths may be straight but I pass in a wide and ample loop providing a short respite from a ho-hum situation.
The movement I make is not only a going through of motions but an action, the action of turning something aside from its course.
There is a wealth in this skill. A facility. A complex whole; an indirect heading.
I don’t specify but signify the importance of a broader emphasis on myself as a mileage; An activity that diverts the mind from altruistic etiquette.
I lounge outside, in a new, revised set of principles.
I place something roughly in the middle. Lay out the space so that they create a sequence which begins with an entrance but eventually leads to the most private of domains.
I re-route the standard, disregarding the method according to which something is done proper. A just-post potential passes by. A service which I could provide.
Instead here; now; an awkward presence and the scandalous absence of the work whose place a domestic utility took.
I too quickly confirm this erasure of work. What I once saw as my advantage; the full control of my surroundings, now seems like a perfection of action by thought only.
I gravitate naturally towards the edge of this space. Traversing the point of the center which neatly organizes what I perceive as errors around it and make it to the cusp which puts it roughly to rest. I don’t linger in the open.
I don’t delight in generous movement or feel secure in a providing of pathways. In a circle one can become intensely aware of one’s own self. In relation to the periphery
I try to refrain from roughly in the middle.
I skirt.
I have no reason for this seeming grand analysis of a mundane practice of this cohabitant. It is an experimentally open situation.
What are my assumed responsibilities? Sensory trips undertaken in isolation from the shared social work? A labor? Is this a table setting? Is there another act coming?
I circulate this space.
The middle is still empty and it needs to be embellished. The sound of glasses, whispers and laughter enlivens a room. Resisting the impulse to either chime in or remove myself, I leave it exactly where it falls. Off center.
A still water. Paths fixed with obvious informality.
The most intuitive way to describe the need for this room is to say that the space must follow suit as I swell with respect for the outside of these walls, located just behind this door, down that long corridor towards the outer perimeter of the room.
Under a series of given circumstances, and only under those circumstances, an agglomeration of rooms closely connected turns from a structure into a sentiment.
A presumption.
Recognize that you are not assembling your existence from components like an erector set, but that you are instead weaving a structure which starts out globally complete, but flimsy; then gradually making it stiffer but still rather flimsy; and only finally making it completely stiff and strong.
Leave behind a viewed mode of experience and react openly to this setting. I am a form of subjectivity. An analysis of the typical. A stock-take.
Completely disregard the pre-existing knowledge or types of normative standards.
I know it is difficult to render yourself as a basic but allow a little stillness in this preexisting condition which is so filtered through norms and aims and standards that it is lost in utterance in a void of spectatorship.
This is not a flat surface. Combine this convention with aware viewing. Awake, face sunned in au fait.
There are no pre-conditions which you cannot overturn in co-existence.
Comment on the language. Comment on the commentary of the language. precision stunts the possibility of delivery in the building plan. Ornamental needs have spread so widely, that very often people forget their instinct for the things they really want to keep around them.
Remain basic; Soft baked.
This is a voluminous piece
Made from dense material
Staged in an opulent setting
A motif of multiplicities unfold
Entering and dispersing
Braiding together and unfurling
Mirroring the making of mimicry as metaphors
The topical lament is thrown off balance and into the mix
Reflected from a personal place
Performed in a public setting
My voice is a transparent volume
Hoping for good reception
Knowing the difficulties in hearing
Hefty hammering haggling for attentiveness
In a fluttering social scene
Sounding sometimes like private noise
Spoken by the dominant tongue
But attempting to manoeuvre with resonant meaning
Resisting to enter the echo chamber
And as a long braid contours the landscape
Into which some form of sonata unfolds
Brimming with allegories but acutely personal
Sounding sometimes dissonant and diskanted
Notes are combined with movements
A sentiment abstracted but absolutely ordinarily honest
Written from an entirely un-exclusive setting
This prelude remains unrevised
Jotted down just last night as our daughter
Cries for sleep and I think mostly of her but partly of introducing
Of what this work is speaking
Of fatigue
And of joy
Of tragedy and its comedy
Of bodies which intertwine, which repel and repress
Of paradoxical laments
Of withdrawal and togetherness
Which even in these in-between moments
compel me to write
As a persona; A sonata.
There are materials which turn the body into an object
Reducing it to a mere reflection of the social
Leaving behind nothing but the artefakt of presence
Dialectically living as a kind of double image displayed
Acting as voyeurs but producing performance
A mirrored surface creates a wall
An unintentional side effect of self-contact
The reflection negates itself and fails as figure, falling flaccid.
When the value of life becomes economically described
The societal structure is inherently bankrupt
A nest of negligence. The profane acting as sacred.
And it causes the audacity of claiming calamity
Lamenting the tragedy of departure from expected social ideals
From melancholic material matter which seems to matter more than most
Vocalising this material loss, localising this material loss, which in contrast to the dispersed body,
the perversed body, the entirely overtaken body, seems so little but manifests so big and loud and strong.
Simmering in a welcome stand-still of embrace of non-transactional care and contact
Lingering in the lavish luxury of liaisons
Done with demonstrating one’s value through pure performativity of presence.
Sans touch but entirely mingled, oscillating back and forth on a progressive wave
A volume which both grows and lessens – the oxymoronic swell of a surf
The dialectical lamentation needs a new vernacular
The delicate self speaks of the cultural capital in jeopardy.
Echoing their access to the upper echelons in the established order.
In this scene in which we see ourselves set as a still life – A mis-en-place, placed in plentitude.
In utter abundance and opulence in a crisis of sparse co-existence.
Where some have none but a multiplicity of doubt and dread
and dream of collective care and collaborative cures
But receive a bound-to-bounce check in the defunkt economy of exclusivity
And whilst beings become numbers and data which abstract bodies
and these intense powers of abstraction reduce even a magnitude to nothing
The many-faced self-recognition becomes a blurry vision.
A frame which freezes then speeds up per automation, mingled beyond recognition.
This is an extension of my present condition
The motif of disembodiment
The dispersal body
In parts, then not
Interprets actual lifelessness
Exodus of consciousness
Memory of movement
Where language and sound are entirely the same
And soon the recitation which seems too thick and saucy gradually transforms into a sound from slid round glasses
These are odes to the slow cancellation of the future
In which inconsistent monuments are constructed by new rituals
An elegy to futility and the myth of progressive modernity
This is a chance to recoup
Where music and movement escalate again into a percussive staccato dialogue
Which begins to dismantle
There are echoes in this contact
Though no body is speaking as no body is only ever speaking
No one body only ever moving and
No still image only ever of real bodies
They tie and link and wrap and tangle into
Bodies which organise themselves
Reveal themselves through volume
Setting out to locate the I in the following
The I in the masses
A body of bodies makes more tissue, harder holding
Weightily woven, wearing well
A close-knit platted braid, curling bodies coil around the projected self
A solo centres their swimming displacement
At the one hand I am braiding my hair, at the other my hair is braided.
At the one hand i am elongating my limbs, at the other holding the hand
that at the one hand is braiding my hair, at the other i am platted –
a single length made up of interlaced strands move into the shape of a coil.
Isolate if you can the singular body in this link
It is no longer
In this vaguely fluid mixture
A hand lost in the body
Bathed in braids
This absolutely unoriginal meditation
In which the suspended body becomes alert
And when an arm slides through she is still inside
It is a tiny distance but a huge measurement
To exit the I as a whole
The I is decided
The I is shattered
The I is unwaveringly for another
I finally understand the meaning of the voice
It shouts at the point where the I is coming undone
Weary and spent
Out of breath and fatigued
Entirely without reason
This realisation of absurd pointlessness is a point of becoming
In its undoing I exist as we
There is no name for the we
Because we are not two singles coupled
This is not that which will tear
But has torn into the becoming through the impermeable
Launched into the breathable space
On the movement of waves
After gesticulating within the confines of walls
I touch my shoulder with my hand
Putting my elbows on my knees
Placing one part of my body on your body
Your body is another’s
These are combinations
Which give rise to a state of absolute contact
These are meditations on combinations
An aria to accompany the coterie
Recasting ruins as entirely new models
With zero singularity
An entirely moulded
So moved, so stable
A tightly knitted agency