Spring 2012


11.8.2003

Line trying to crumple its way into texture, glomming on to every single potential for a knot, a bend, a kink, turning corners left and right and pouncing on the acuteness of every whiff of misery, never mind whose, struggling to grow a little chest hair, biceps, to put some ass on it, a stronger mustache, trying to relax and get fuzzy, a more muscular voice, at least, oh at the very least if anything, if any part of itself could carry slightly, just slightly beyond itself, wondering if it will do to leave a trail of shit, failing to accomplish even that, looking to bulk up and being denied by every perspective, unable to do anything without bringing along the inherent properties of itself which prevent it always from doing anything it wouldn’t do.

SAWAKO NAKAYASU





 

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“ANTS in my scanner > a five years time-lapse!” by François Vautier