(Segment 14)
So many wires. Worming their way about in the roof, or on the underneath of the roof. ALSO KNOWN AS A : ‘ceiling’. Cubic insides filled with plastic intestines, I sit here, in the gut, writing about the gut. How often do you move about? And do you, most importantly, pay attention to your moving about when it takes place?
Instructions:
Be aware of where you are
Are there wires on the ceiling?
Who installed them?
I have noticed that I tend to pay close attention to where I am, both physically and mentally, when donning the hyperaware spectacles. Be aware and jot that down. “Are you getting all of this Barbra?”
Physically I sit in a studio
A surrounding white cube
Entombing thoughts in a metal chest
My chest hurts when I think too long on the future[1]. Furthermore, my elbows are pressing down a torn paper ridge, torn because I tore it. The paper ridge lies beneath my elbows because I cover my desk in paper, a clothing of sorts for the amalgam of wood bits that prop up my wordings. This clothing is an important site to write real wordings down and functions similarly to the studio. The paper is bordered by the torn ridge, a boundary for stopping words from falling off of my desk, they do get loose sometimes (as I am sure you can tell).
Instructions:
Follow a specific line of thought
Remain spontaneous
disconnect from this line of thought entirely
I see a way forward, but I am blocked by my own inhibitions. Frontal lobe inhibitor chip remains active, or so it seems. Breaking through the adjoining wall of my studio seems the only way out, they would expect me to go for the window. Instantly both parties had dismissed the door as an exit point because of how obvious it was. The first option. And because the door was dismissed, I break my way through the wall adjacent, soft cardboard painted white does not provide much in the way of resistance. It was practically begging to be crumpled in. The white cardboard sponge cake. It is also very quiet in this box – the studio from which I recently broke free. Perhaps I am aware of my physical and mental locations, but I can no longer tell them apart. Everything can only ever be playing out in my own head, not a comforting thought when one is sitting alone in one’s studio. Perhaps it is time to move again.
Peripheries blur
Locomotion
Joint pain Seated at home, mentally at least.
[1] See Segment 5 – between 18:00 and 19:00