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ARTS AND CULTURE

Prick and it'll bleed

  • 28 July 2009

My life without you I've glimpsed what it might have been like on my trips to places that weren't even disappointing, just real and so almost utterly foreign to flimsy, film-set imaginings. The real with its detail filled in far beyond the call of duty set up peephole installations: a kind man's flat into which nothing useless and beautiful had been brought for a long time; a window display of high-heeled work boots; keys but not mine, a pink sapphire ring and false teeth in a lost-property box; something half-dead floating in the eyes of a man who turned out to be not only a cold fish but a shark.

Next year it will be twenty years already. You've probably forgotten most of the times you made all the difference (if you ever knew) by not being otherwise than as you are: a perfect stranger to dinginess. You were the barefoot breeze all along the branching path, the breathable light and the ocean-washed air. It was you. I knew it. I had no idea.

This way up I can walk backwards but it makes my neck hurt. When I was a kid the right knee of my pants usually tore first, but I can only sneer on the left. In a gravitational field, my body goes this way up for sixteen hours then should be laid flat in the dark. If I said it wasn't ticklish, how obvious was that? Prick and it'll bleed, so careful with that Ouch! Failing a lotus with a puff of ether in it at the centre of this opaque space, small sorts of flora and fauna multiply: it's the tropical, Hindu sort of temple. The sight of a workstation makes my back hurt.

Some bodies are happy sitting at the still centre of a drive-thru tarscape. Not this one. Sometimes after a sunny lunch I forget the whole universe doesn't have to take arms to knock it flat. A drop of liquid will do. Pretty good the way it keeps bouncing back though, so far, slower than it did at first, but still. Reading this over I think: How smug is that?

Envoy Plenty of bottles have sunk to the sea floor messages slowly dissolving inside them, others have washed up a short walk down the beach or far away but a century too late for the sender, though not for the retiree archiving items of exotic flotsam. How many super-durable monuments are settling on the windscreens of cars in Rome as I put this together from lines drafted with a finger in beach sand or a texta on a tile by anon? This gappy lattice suddenly crystallising from a slowly enriched solution of possibilities would have to be further up