So-and-So Inside
Question at the dawn of primitive childhood. A few words to grant me a free space like a building site on the edge of the forest.
Somebody in it; I do my best to make sure there's somebody in it; something in the lemon; not just an appearance. When you knock on someone's door, you wish there was always someone behind the door. Not just the dog barking in response. Of course, you have to be free to hide if you don't feel like answering. That's what's fun when you've done a bit of homework. You can hide in corners that others don't suspect, among the ruins of what you know so well because you have destroyed it yourself.
The true individual venturing out of his isolation room, faints on contact with the air. He refuses to be legibly embodied in his words and deeds...
Empirical excavations reveal the root system of David Noir Production. Between the tortuous roots and the brambles are articles.
Attempted social evasion | There's no room for social chatter here. Not even on a good morning. And that's just as well.
Start by undermining the basis of my nature. Set the moral high ground and wait for the... cement to set... the wide asses of the cows that live here...
Solidarity is not the display of single-mindedness. I will not be shouted any slogan that is not mine. Not Charlie tonight, not any other day.
I'm testifying from where I am. As a good archaeologist, I create my own ruin. The loneliness of the fields of childhood is not the same as the loneliness of the fields of adulthood.
Writing relieves the tension of over-thinking, stops the bleeding, cauterizes the sense, temporarily closes the still moist wound.
The civilization of the individual is a personal act that leads him to question his own situation between savagery and the "product" of culture.
I am a plant, an animal, an asteroid or a living room bench... I am whatever my imagination can make of me.
What is my intelligence today? How is it modified, shaped daily, stimulated by my time?
