Wednesday, 13 December, 1995
An urge to come to language. This exchange of nothingness. Abandon processes of decoding or drift, and strike up like accidents occurring on them, their distinctive beauty exciting something moist passed gently, like wing-beats, into separate conversations. Harrowing explosions, our bodies written in white ink, hidden behind the stonework of slogans above them. A shared state of the abstract, not even the most interesting or the most modern, a secret to no one. Tool and symbol, free hand and supple larynx, physical features in themselves as neutral.
The color of the blond woman in the hallway. The sounds of pedestrians walking on stone steps outside. Swelling music takes you out of the frame, aware of the external influence.
Anticipation is imperative. Do not fetishize, do not deny, do not hate. Never any display of emotion, as an insult. The color of the blond woman in the hallway.
An urge to come to language. This exchange of nothingness. Abandon processes of decoding or drift, and strike up like accidents occurring on them, their distinctive beauty exciting something moist passed gently, like wing-beats, into separate conversations. Harrowing explosions, our bodies written in white ink, hidden behind the stonework of slogans above them. A shared state of the abstract, not even the most interesting or the most modern, a secret to no one. Tool and symbol, free hand and supple larynx, physical features in themselves as neutral.
The color of the blond woman in the hallway. The sounds of pedestrians walking on stone steps outside. Swelling music takes you out of the frame, aware of the external influence.
Anticipation is imperative. Do not fetishize, do not deny, do not hate. Never any display of emotion, as an insult. The color of the blond woman in the hallway.
posted by Scott MacLeod at 12:30 PM
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