THE M SHOP
THE M SHOP
12/5/89
The world pulls me away from myself. I look across an arching line of empty tables and stools. The dripping from the ceiling creates two separate reflective pools. They serve as mirrors. In my mind it creates the illusion that the tables are arched to the right and distorted. It matters but it doesn’t make a difference. How is this so?
I locate a third drip though the lighting doesn’t permit me to see the pool. Only a solitary blink of light as the drip passes through the air. I don’t know where it comes from and I don’t know where it is going. It matters but it doesn’t make a difference. I wonder why. I try not to look too close to find the endpoints of this seemingly divine drip. No beginning. No end. I don’t want my illusion of it shattered.
Something about all this makes me feel uprooted. I hear people talking and I am afraid it is directed at me. The music muffles the voices, which makes their intent seem all the more pointed. I feel as if anything could be everything yet I am pulled along by a series of anxieties and eruptions that feed my enthusiasm. Enthusiasm for what? I wish I were that drip. I could be.
I must leave myself occasionally and dabble with experience. When I return I find I’ve changed, but I was gone when the change occurred. Up the street from me a huge building was torn down. I was out of town. When I returned and turned the corner I could tell something had changed. Either I could see more or I could see less. I couldn’t tell at first. Then I noticed a large skeleton of what was once a foundation. It was large enough to be noticed, yet I cannot remember what was there; the way things used to be. I passed that intersection several times a day yet I cannot remember what was there. I have probably spent hours waiting at the light beside it and I still don’t know what was there. Something large. It matters, but it doesn’t make a difference.
This is how I feel when I return to myself. Something has changed in the landscape of my mind. The question is whether edifices are being constructed or demolished. I expect it is a little of both. The new materials come from my dabblings in experience. Where does the old material go?
12/5/89
The world pulls me away from myself. I look across an arching line of empty tables and stools. The dripping from the ceiling creates two separate reflective pools. They serve as mirrors. In my mind it creates the illusion that the tables are arched to the right and distorted. It matters but it doesn’t make a difference. How is this so?
I locate a third drip though the lighting doesn’t permit me to see the pool. Only a solitary blink of light as the drip passes through the air. I don’t know where it comes from and I don’t know where it is going. It matters but it doesn’t make a difference. I wonder why. I try not to look too close to find the endpoints of this seemingly divine drip. No beginning. No end. I don’t want my illusion of it shattered.
Something about all this makes me feel uprooted. I hear people talking and I am afraid it is directed at me. The music muffles the voices, which makes their intent seem all the more pointed. I feel as if anything could be everything yet I am pulled along by a series of anxieties and eruptions that feed my enthusiasm. Enthusiasm for what? I wish I were that drip. I could be.
I must leave myself occasionally and dabble with experience. When I return I find I’ve changed, but I was gone when the change occurred. Up the street from me a huge building was torn down. I was out of town. When I returned and turned the corner I could tell something had changed. Either I could see more or I could see less. I couldn’t tell at first. Then I noticed a large skeleton of what was once a foundation. It was large enough to be noticed, yet I cannot remember what was there; the way things used to be. I passed that intersection several times a day yet I cannot remember what was there. I have probably spent hours waiting at the light beside it and I still don’t know what was there. Something large. It matters, but it doesn’t make a difference.
This is how I feel when I return to myself. Something has changed in the landscape of my mind. The question is whether edifices are being constructed or demolished. I expect it is a little of both. The new materials come from my dabblings in experience. Where does the old material go?
posted by KELLY FRAZIER at 3:28 PM
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