what provides it - my vision of the sun and fraying - this is infidelity - the realm of spirits are in a weave together
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At my cabin in the Florida swamplands, the nights are very hot. Each evening we work our way through the consciousness of elegance, building on the roles of wife and nurse. Before we go to bed, we stack three big, dry, tied bunches of bamboo in the center of the room, and pour kerosene over them. Our heads swirl around the room as we sleep. In the wee hours we have clear eyes and lovely brown skin.
During my freshman year of college, I took an “Intro to Breathing” class, which was, as the title suggests, meant to be an exploration of our breathing habits. These were the expectations that I entered into. Interestingly, however, the class was but a promise which could only take in those to whom budgetary deficits meant nothing.
In any event I need now to focus on my afternoon work. As I explained and demonstrated to her, which is very technical, the sound of the bell ringing captures free space near votive pillars of stone. This requires a movement highly attuned to contact with the bell. In any case, control of the body is extremely vital, especially the hand, as it plunges and heaves.
How can I possibly sort it out? Were you sleeping or ‘co-sleeping’ with him? Did he taste your breast milk? And for how long has this gone on? How did you set up your playpen time? What will this mean for us? If I discipline you can you still love me? And seriously, how damaged is a marriage prejudiced by boredom and over-eating?
At first glance, my work may seem like visual noise that you might come across in a mental catalogue of dinners enjoyed in the past. But instead of allowing a single memory phenomenon, like the sound of an orange falling into the brush, try something perhaps more inscrutable: conflicting curiosities.
I don’t understand people who wear dense fabrics. Do they relate to others with competing cultural values? Everything, to some extent, is more than sufficient pleasure to scribble a few lines from time to time. Do they carelessly discard the branches above their heads and dream all day?
It was impossible to imagine. I thought that she would not be carrying a wreath of oleander and wild jasmine. We shook hands warmly and I did a reverse cartwheel to impress her. She symbolized the adventure I was hoping to find. Unimpressed with my gymnastics, she timed to a second her rapid departure. A great melancholy gripped me and I bathed in water and milk.
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Authorrunning the whole length of the horizon... Archives
August 2018
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