On fear truth and love
Cyclical and circular
Finding no edges in the amorphous
Im tempted to trace it
Exactitude fortelling
Predicting the downturn
If i look too hard it changes
Shimmering across the edges…
I try to track the horizon line
But tiny and tinier glimmers growing
Obscuring the endpoints
I have to look down and notice
My own hand as its vibrating
I notice the sword again
I hold it in front of me and
Watch its edges dissipate
Glimmering at the horizon line
I have to look away
Before its blade drops
Render render render render
I twist my torso to touch my foot
Interrupt a swinging leg
The expanse is wide
Fail fall
Words press against my lips
Bursting from my chest, but i seal them
You face me, oblivious to the inscribed fantasies
I smile and raise my hand
Interrupt a swinging leg
You come back into focus in the span of 10 seconds
My head against your knee
I twist to touch your foot
The expanse is wide
We crumble into the grey floor beneath us
Laughing, falling
Render
The scene is revealed in the span of
10 minutes
I feel your gaze and smile. Back to me.
Back to me. Back to me.
Reverse rewind fall up
Render in HD. none of this reduced
Quality instagam shit. I want the
Full picture
Fil it up - an empty vessel is powerless
Falls lifeless
Puff it up, press against the skin
Full full rendered. Clean clear
Distinct. I can see the edges now
Im tracing the sky
My fingers trail in the ends
Sometimes my eyes are transformed
They cry and remit pointed calls
To the falling falling ether
The water only parts when i breathe in
I think next of your hair
The way it hangs loose
Parting around my face
You hang close to me
I could wrap my hand around your whole being
I watch your face deconstruct and fall away
You’re far from me
Falling up
Im grazing the edge with my lips
Too distracted to realize youre gone
Do you mourn my edges
While they blur and bleed out
Maybe you are too alone
Solid form against the sky
Bold and charging forward
While i trail in the wake
i dream of falling through big sweeping arcs of light that trace underneath dusty fallen fabrics. i want you to see me from the outside, clear and linear and considered. inside it is different i conceal the spirals. resisting what is organic is futile. it amounts to indulgence. cycling resistance. i want you to see me from the outside, spiraling and thoughtful as i fall. through big sweeping arcs. the technicalities matter. over and over i find the means to the end. there are colors bleeding together behind my eyelids as i empty myself out. i am draining, emptying. it's like that meditation that is supposed to help w sleep - bodyscanning. i find myself in another world as my eyes lazily blink. shooting my pinky finger out - it is foreign to me. my thigh twitches of its own accord. i'm falling through these arcs and i open my eyes for the first time. we're you always standing by my side? arms reach? sense escapes me, my eyes blink and my fingers reach. falling through, open, over, out. spirals vomiting it of my skin. expulsing, describing. the environment around me takes shape. i suddenly am beside myself. phantom forms and formulations. describing the space beside me. i dream once again and empty myself out. empty, i fall
So, in thinking about post-structuralism, where does my narrative fit in? I am by and for the institution. I live deeply entrenched inside of the systems that trap me. And yet, i am resistant. I dont aim to make sense. I want to feel aside from that which i come from. I am thinking also about how i resist that which i come from in a familial sense. That in itself is a structure that ties me under that which i despise. The expectation and the disappointment. Can i be loved through the failure? I believe you and yet i am constantly pulled to fulfill something empty. I dont remember why i started writing this. Oh maybe i am thinking of the man in the bookshop who told me there has been no great artistic movement since the 1970’s. That our structures arent changing. It is only aesthetics. This could be true? I cant decide. I need more info. But colloquially i agree. I feel institutionalized. Even within a culture that opposes that. Not sure what makes the most sense. Infiltrating or resisting. I think i need the institution to ground me. Make me feel in check and validated. Intellectual. Unemotional. Maybe thats something it keeps me from feeling. It can be an avoidance tactic.
Where the river falls on hard rocks
House at the rivers bend
His ? was cold when i kissed him good bye
He had the skin of an ?
I felt his ? caress me and
I started to cry
I want to settle myself
Shadowed crossed and open
He had the skin of an ?
My hands could never clock
The ?
The protagonist in my memory
Failing me over and over
My own heartbeat lost
Somewhere outside me
I cant make out the edge
Fog obscures the angles
I felt life in a months time
Stride by stride
Im at the rivers bend
Where the river falls on
Hard rocks
At last, i am free
Come, sweet ?
I felt his ? caress me
I want to settle myself
The breath being caught over and over again
Postures
Duet of desperation - look at me
The landscape evolves what for?
Design vs intention - when to hold and allow
Design to be witnessed vs when it should be accompanied
Recycling
The sun will rise again if we let it
Tertiary vs primary support
Counterting and pressure work
An unfolding/revealing of a solo
Same with a violent duet
developing/spotting/sketching/engineering
A structure
When is possibility accessed through
repetition/waiting? Is when is it just futile?
Non performative partnering
The idea of texture
Appreciating the change of sensation in each shape
I like to wake up and work
Head pounding and heart sore
Vision tunnels inward toward
My heavy browline
Undisturbed
But distressed
I like to wake up and work
Jumping towards the next
The next the next
Imagined moment
Where am i sitting?
Cold beside the birds?
I like to wake up and work
Get those legs moving
That heart racing
Never let the day slip
I like to wake up and lie
To myself about what i like
I witnessed my own death today. Suddenly i was in a ritual. And Entirely alone. I was battling something and hiding from something else and reaching for something else. It stormed when i caught something. My hand at the back wall. As i tried to push it away, it only cursed me further. I was caught trying to escape. Desperately lurching in and out. Finally i retreated. I looked for comfort but it left, i searched throughout the remains and found nothing. I deposited myself at the river base to decay. Ephemera traced the space as the protagonist transferred. The newly appointed mourned. Tracing what was left until they found grace. An empty decaying world where the prehistoric components swirl upward into the air. I am by the river base and i watch from a removed state as it rebuilds. My sacrifice litters the space with debris that blossoms anew as beings pour their life energy in. i am fractal and wandering, laying pieces of myself upon the land. My inside turned out. I could cry at any moment. The pieces picked up and renewed once again. Snarling, eating, biting. Slipping in and out of shape - swimming. Searing flesh. The echoing across is significant. The experience of echoing feels like it shouldnt happen? I see i am an imposter
MY IMAGE ILLUMINATED/
HELD OUT ON THE SWORD/
END AT THE SHORELINE/
I NEVER GAZE UPON/
ONCE I KNOW YOUVE WAITED/
GLIMMERING EDGES RESTORED/
WE WILL BEGIN TO ENTWINE/
TRANSMUTING INTO THE FAWN/
YOUTHFUL AND EMBOLDENED, NOMINATED/
SPIRITS’ DRUMMING STORED/
ALONG OUR FRESH SPINE/
THE HORIZON PREDAWN/
I NOTICE THE SWORD AGAIN, DISSIPATED/
FADING, WE MOVE TOWARD/
PAUSE, HALTING AT THE LINE OF BLISS
MY IMAGE ILLUMINATED/
HELD OUT ON THE SWORD/
END AT THE SHORELINE/
I NEVER GAZE UPON/
ONCE I KNOW YOUVE WAITED/
GLIMMERING EDGES RESTORED/
WE WILL BEGIN TO ENTWINE/
TRANSMUTING INTO THE FAWN/
YOUTHFUL AND EMBOLDENED, NOMINATED/
SPIRITS’ DRUMMING STORED/
ALONG OUR FRESH SPINE/
THE HORIZON PREDAWN/
I NOTICE THE SWORD AGAIN, DISSIPATED/
FADING, WE MOVE TOWARD/
PAUSE, HALTING AT THE LINE OF BLISS
IT STORMED WHEN I CAUGHT SOMETHING
DUET OF DESPERATION
THE LANDSCAPE EVOLVES WHAT FOR?
MY BREATH IS BOTTOMLESS
DESCRIBING THE SPACE BESIDE ME
COLD BESIDE THE BIRDS
I EMPTY MYSELF ON THE SHORELINE
ENDURANCE IN THE BODY
HIS CHEEK WAS COLD WHEN I LEFT HIM
RUNNING, I WANT TO GO FASTER
PANORAMIC VIEWS TRANSPOSED TO THE PERIPHERY
I AM RESISTANT
I STRIKE MY ARM FORWARDS WITH LITTLE ELEGANCE
DENIAL WRITTEN ACROSS THE AIR
-i fall freely and openly, often
-i remember i was here this morning
-how many lives have I lived since then?
-trace my lifeline around and through
-my body is catching up, catching down
-it comes back again
-we are crossed, glaring
-feeling the fullness of my own naivety
-every curve comes back to you
-i feel myself at the crux of my converging identities
-bubbling out over open
-i just remembered i was here this morning
-phantom forms of me exist all across this city; where do they converge?