|Room Time |
I didn’t go back for the dream despite what I promised for the promise, too, was part of the dream. Cast off its axis, a room must not be let loose to roam a house, muck its interior wilderness. Each room is laid down inside the previous until the house is a nest of contained and containing rooms. Placed inside this nest it is difficult to navigate the
|rooms the subject invariably picks up the phone but this phone is inside of my body which is not a place I want to speak to it just asks foolish questions about going back for the dream through the digital tick-grass of its quantitative field once|
|I was a different person. Two friends and I would get spatially together and hold what we then called Room Time. This was a spectacle of friendship marked in celestial bodies by a slow nova of possibility. Let me be clear: a possible room can exist inside an impossible one for a while. But then stellar reset occurs and the possible drops out of the room. |
|Stop trying so hard to make it happen |
I was grave at a gathering of friends, hotly tethered to figures of unbalance. The whole landscape, I misspoke, hard breathing, caught in a bad word. I knew I had something to stop but no one was telling me how. Speech kept happening in another direction—I watched it thread half-beautifully around what may have been my location or someone else’s or not anyone’s, location with eyes for itself only. More logical bad news I can witness, be vessel for. I wanted love to come from a place of glacial resignation and just be happy for that even happening. I was embarrassed for my subjectivity—it kept vamping, being moot.