a bird's entrails are in a bowl on a table and there's a red scarf wrapped around your head...

fig. a) mise en abyme, after which an appropriation and new purpose

Friar Laurence: While corners keep an open mouth to news Nearer now and nearer thee effuse So lurking in the birds Sharp as Tuesday, with purpose, and with smith I've often, for many For many more, I've often too. Guiled this rattle wit. Again... this witless side's abuse

Yes yes, Romeo might be fair in Verona. But its the props and their significance that creates this false narrative. As for documentation, that's the real matter of this work. Its the star crossed lovers part of this story. Creating work that actively engages the audience's ability to dismantle the subject-object narrative. Its the dismantling of inertia through the agency of ubiquity with documentation in any form that might take, to wit...

Friar Laurence: Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.

Superhero 1: Couple that stately table's service with a parlor's amity for math. Friar Laurence Friar Laurence to the last I cry. This real jacketed science this implicit narrative is the honest wit of thy sleeve.

Friar Laurence: It's an infectious tongue as earnest as this. Particularly when honed and true with spit.

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Totem

Tonight is old. It's wett but current and bored. I'm watching nothing but stars in the often sky that happen... do... tonight is lame like old, young like song, even as blue... Equal after the sun, noon or scripted yellow you are to me... A we (as sound)

Songlet is Best

fig.0231) FizzGraf MT. "Magical, like a chorus of like minded souls in a froth of cotton fumes." Over fake doors, under refurbished ladders, gypsum board and bent yellow pipes offering us an unmade bed and a stained window. Our one chance at tomorrow. Magnetic guts from at least a thousand cassettes are strewn across the room. Hee-Haw style, fancy dress shoes cling to the floor like it's '86 all over again. Hee-Haw, goes the sound. Hee-Haw, we're closer then we were. Hee-Haw, it's hilarious. Listening for trains, leaning out over the rails like two people with no time at all. Better maps, that's what we need. We could use a melody for singing with this chorus; in whose curious presence more patients wait to be found. With hands over our heads, someone passes by and asks, "gender?" There's stars in this sweet tooth of mine and some atoms left from the sky, Tonight the whole angle of heaven sleeps without light. Ordering its coffee darkest, t

Whiskers, chanting, "swap me, swap me!"

Fig.32) Aging poorly We're just together, taking ourselves for a tidy sum of walk and now our toes are wet and cool in the Lak, beside a cool stone that could drive a modernist to their flint. There's a listening experience that feels prepared, "our's for now, ours it says! Here's the hammer and it's wrapped in its own design already. A union in time-space, this card is our greetings, our massive, our very patience is reflected in this resolve." Suddenly, there's a cut away and she's wearing the pants that I've made for her, slow blue like painted smoke . I'm thinking about her hunched over the kitchen table, something that's stuck. There's a carving knife in her hand but from here, it's the same as an old spoon. From here my computer is sitting on my guilty seat, I'm thinking about champagne and comparing it to a thick wad bees and wondering whats in it for me? It's an anxious season, filled with not enough of anythin

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