(Segment 23)
I want to vomit.
the man is violently ill into a trashcan
This process[1] has done something to me. It has changed me, and the change is manifesting itself bodily. I am scared of my desk – light brown wood pieces assembled. The document feels like a trap, I think it’s causing heart palpitations in my chest.
he lies on his bed, staring aimlessly – anywhere but where his focus should lie
Empty and ready for implosion, my thoracic cavity has felt better days. Before I would have greeted the pressure gradient, and adjusted accordingly, but it has become difficult recently. There is a newfound strain to my sigh. But I also know that this is just a bad day, one to get past. Collect participation stamp at the afterparty stage-exit.
the man is struggling through his day, outdated frame pushed too far (furthering the need for an update)
A husk might be the most accurate way to describe myself currently. And we might as well throw ‘decrepit’ in there too (the dictionary greets me enthusiastically as I search the word decrepit. Example sentence 2: “a rather decrepit old man”. Apt). I have been staring at the masking tape on my desk for far too long.
sitting up straight, the man lengthens his spine, but this ages him some thirty years
On Kawara’s work has been compared with factory line production technique. I have almost begun to wish that this were true. That this was all taking place in a factory. Mass production at least, doesn’t require deeper engagement. Truly this may be more humane if it were simply devoid of unique enquiry. Aggravated sigh. This writing is not a factory production line, and although that makes it more difficult, it also makes it mean something hopefully.
the man is struggling with his motivation, I am sorry you had to see him like this
[1] Method writing, as I have taken to calling it, embodies a strange and interesting interaction with a set of preconceived instructions (a methodology), to which I am bound.