1.1the walls all steel, reflective, insistent; my own body cold

 i remember they asked me why i was holding the body and i could only let them know that i was as fascinated with his body in death as i was in life the body formerly inaccessible became something accessible something i could touch i remember how i felt when i ran my hands along his flesh sloshing through the the blood i remember that i understood his death as something i could never know i remember realizing that any attempt at comprehension was a mistake

here inside a sublime ceremonious closed-off space an encounter but only myself my own body my light to touch

 there is light coursing through my veins highlighted in reflection pushing the body against this steel sometimes can push through ice melt ice find light but the light insistent in the sense that except when night falls and we rotate like the earth the light is what can does will course push a flatness but in the flatness a stillness like the body hovers floats over the thought of any outside because this is here i am in the outside i am inside of the cell the space an event it is an event i am inside of when i touch like glass like the thought of glass the burn of cold ice cold burn my skin i can see inside and i can look i can watch my body the blood coursing through my veins the flat like illuminated desert the catastrophe of any stilled insistence my gaze catches sight of myself in that ice reflection glass steel this unknowable material and when i see the face of another that is my own i find the man his body his death his self which i can not know i can only touch steel not stone a different texture both cut steel sharp stone rough my skin abraded like bruise a push toward night

the fragility of a sterile body for what’s an hallucination a thought opens a door and i walk through it

 with the shake of the room the earth i slough off the excess and the soil pipe chthonic returns it to earth my shit piss come and voice sterilized of the earth as the earth imbibes as the body forgets so as to let the body forget its position upright as if baseness or horizontality could take over the body my body a body upright erect against the wall stuck pushed into place forgotten no lied against the voice proclaiming the body upright when the voice stuck come spread thin a salve to rub rub a rub into the wounds but the wounds aren’t there the wounds belong to another the self against the wound and what comes out of it when the wound wants to speak it chokes the spill like a vomit and what is it that any of this offal has to say

1.2in the course of another morning outside of my own

 i remember that the idea of the body was an idea of escape both out of and into a body is an escape route a container is an event the scent of blood catches a man off guard for how can one know if the blood belongs to himself or to another but then the speech given to me following my coalescence with the man whose body i came to love presented an idea that the body could not be a route but was only a body and a body can only be alive or dead and there can be no consideration of something either between or apart from a binary opposition and when i protested to the men they told me my death would not come swiftly but rather over a prolonged duration so as to give me a chance to come to terms with the operative functioning of a binary existence and i laughed and these new men were frightened by my laugh but my laugh found me meandering through the space of the room the way the space echoed that laughter i could feel it surrounding me i encountered a duplicity and then a multiplicity and the echo told me that there can be no binary in death or in the body or in this route toward a means of escape

the space of the day presents a new light the air feels different this time the space is activated by this new thought

 if i can inside my own double present speech from one to another then what is to prevent this ululation from trespassing the space that the room itself can’t define but the howls considered lamentation refuses the positioning my own body i’m touching my own my own body the position against the floor an experiment to refuse verticality and push into the ground my sight lines refuse to define the corners of the room and push toward a flatness no horizon only a singularity of existence i remember floating off of the coast of hydra my shins dripping with blood from the scrape of rocks and the way the blood met the sea and immediately dispersed and my body dispersing into the sea and the placelessness i remember the placelessness and the way my body felt when it felt like my body was attached to my consciousness and not the state the dream presented when i found the body of the man i killed but the victim seems to have never existed in the first place only as the body of phantasy of a dream away from linearity because after i found the man dead i walked with him but we did not speak but i spoke of him to others and the others echoes of the man himself because my sexuality expresses itself not with the body but only with the earth and the earth defines the topography in physical properties that allow me to pronounce right now in this cell in this event to pronounce the body and speak of the body i mean to speak of him the man the blood the man the dead man body blood eroticized object but now only object subject another refusal of binary allows one to neglect the other without opening up the nullity of an abyssal encounter with death

i’m questioning if this is how we construct the gaze and what it can do without a window or even anything to look through yet alone at

 in this shake of the earth my body forgets its container the cell in movement we define elasticity how muscles move flex response time gestural speaking to the night but the lights are off so this is night in movement like a tunnelling i always imagine i am moving further beneath the earth into the earth through the earth for the other side will be not the other side of the other but the other side will be an outside but if inside this cell this body i am already outside of the other outside of the confinement of the other the outside then if i push through tunnel into this outside will my body find itself coming out of itself rebirth of not culture or science or logic but just a body presenting itself to another version of its own body an infinitude of self inescapable or is the outside of the outside an escape from this self or is the outside of the outside not an escape but rather an opportunity or ceremony in order to come to terms with or is the outside of the outside the night the unknowable night the night that shakes the ground beneath me no matter how i position my body i know that right now the earth must be beneath me through me above me the whole of positionality is a preposition but to speak of this is to be able to refuse this and simply let the space rearrange clear open the rotation vibrates my throat and i can pronounce again the thought of an inescapable night

1.3unaccountable visceral excess opens the day in reflection

 i remember a list of belongings i had before the encounter with before my encounter with the dead man the list began it began with an object the first object was a book a notebook with yellowed pages and inside the pages were squares the squares were ritual markings that let me escape into a text the text spoke of the bodies of other men sometimes tied up or sometimes just constrained there was a catalog i had constructed artificial because photography is always a fiction and the tableau were echoed with the text of another square i can’t remember how these squares worked they were either keys or ciphers for the images and when i combined them i could find my sex reach to the sky and my sex would shout the white of god’s blank eyes rolled back an ecstatic oh i would pray to the white the white space a white blank this white this ecstatic white was what it was i was looking for inside the man i told this to the man i wanted to find the ecstatic white within him but the man could not understand the man did not understand so my rending of the body no not my rending the rending of the body but the red stained the white and the ecstasy was elsewhere but i found it when i went inside but i never went inside that man didn’t exist so how could i penetrate the inside rimming the wound with my fingers the man’s bulk was inescapable before or after it lost motor functioning i remember the moment like a blinding flash of white light but the man’s opening spoke to me all holes when massaged can voice what it is that the interior wants to speak i remember the tone of the voice the man’s hole the man’s hole spoke to me about the ecstatic white the hole told me i had to go further beneath not just remain on the surface but the hole felt inviting and when i fist my own enigma the hole is muffled like the gag of a mouth i remember there were other belongings that i had but none of them were as important to me as the book itself it let my body love the body pronounced through the corridors of flesh what it was that the body wanted to love

to recompense loss this room can be accounted for in its bed sink toilet and steel walls spatially misunderstood the shape of a coffin but plenty of room to breathe

 if entirely isolated the cell my death room isolated death room can hold the space of my own scream then it can hold an infinite number of other possibilities because the sound of my voice is all that i need to escape from the body itself in presentation of an abstracted geometry the way one body can confine another this concept inherently touches upon the exchange of power and how truly the only power that matters is a mastery of the self for in erasure or incorporation of the other it is the self that must be contained like my body contains my self and like my cell contains my body an infinite sequestering of one inside of another and this is how sex works one goes inside of another so to decide this or to refuse any other possibility one must be willing to discover how to escape the need for an other when there are holes to be filled there are always holes to be filled all types of holes all over the body some of them are obvious and have always been there others must be discovered dug out impressed upon opened up my sex now vertical pushing toward god again a refusal this time because the white can’t come in the outside for it must come from the outside so i find the hole and let the hole know that there is another opportunity it is to go through holes inside of holes the inside of the outside but pushed aside locked up confined i want to be roped to the floor or the bed the cot the steel operating table the post in the woods the cell door i want to be penetrated by my otherness and so i do can am and i let the quality of the air shift again thicker now i push the thickness into form the form finds a new hole of mine this time i let the form push into the hole it fills the hole but bodies are nothing but irreparable voids a void is abyssal it cannot be filled it is infinite my body knows my body can know no satisfaction the body is a tale of unsatisfied desire a history of learning what it is you can’t have i push inside and let the illusion of filling up push the god white out and it slicks the floor my new salve i rub it back into my wound and let the healing speak pronounce what it is that i am after that is easy i am after an escape

in detumescence the prison enters the night and the post-drip of objection defines the moment the movement

 in sleep i refuse to dream and instead steady my breathing to focus on the rotation of the cell my body turning at the same rate a matched tempo the rhythm of the night defines the movement of the body the deflation of sensory apparatus so as to move inside refusal of sensate meditation pushing instead further into the night the focus on rotation the shiver of metal rotation sleep rotation turn of body rotation sleep depthless dreams flat sleep delivering no narrative space only a perpetual sense of movement

1.4thrusting the body from one side of the room to the other

 i remember before i met the man i had no interest in the man & yet when i met the man i found i was interested in him in his body in the shape of his body his voice the voice of his body the way the shape of his body colored his voice and the peaks of flesh sticking out from his clothes on his arms his legs below his neck his head itself the face below the hair all of the flesh accessible to the air dry like dust i breathe it in exhale desire breathe in skin exhale lust permeable walls the flesh the sky before me i would watch the sky i remember i would watch the sky especially at night expecting something to happen in the dark the way light was brighter when i projected the images of volcanic eruption upon my own body in the dark i felt i understood the way the world works and i knew like popping a zit or taking a shit or vomiting food poisoning there was something inside ready to burst out always so the first night i saw the man i took his image fixed inside my vision and with my hand i took my sex and let it rise toward god but i rejected god for when the white came i thrust the salve immediately upon the wall echoing dejection and from one side of the room to the other i would run and thrust my body into the form and soon the wall held an indentation of my body and when i saw the man again i told him that my trajectory was now physical he questioned what it was that i was trying to tell him and i told him that it was simple but he didn’t understand it’s very easy you just don’t understand i told him and he failed to deliver any emotional response that i could file away for a later moment of dejection so instead of holding the thought i asked him if he would let me photograph his body nude rolling around a floor of dirt

i’m not convinced that there’s anything in this room that i’m either unaware of or incapable of manifesting

 the words that i spoke above are inscribed on the heels of my feet the unnecessary trajectory of creation i’m not capable of understanding why bodies feel so much necessity for movement when the air stills and the room the cell stills i can still my body i invert myself push against the wall or center myself in the center of the room the cell my body upside down now reverse blood flow but before the reversal there is a moment and the moment always almost goes without being noticed but there is a singular moment in which the blood ceases before reversing a moment when the body stills the cell stills when the body abysses itself into the void that other side this impossible inner experience so entirely impossible to inhabit yet also yes impossible to escape so in that moment i try to focus on an intention my intention is most often the word sun which linguistically can only reference something else yet in itself the monosyllabic utterance creates a new form of light outside of my body outside of my cell something outside something separate something i have no sovereignty over something i cannot control a symbolic linguistic gesture of my powerlessness and into the mess i spill upon the floor spittal combined with sweat and remnants of food i can’t remember eating a new ritual loam for my ceremonial space like when i remember the man covered in dirt i echo the throw of the body i rub the loam upon myself like a salve i put my body in the air and let it fall but i refuse gravity enough for the moment a second the echo of the stilling of the body blood cell room base breath i can still and float away impossible float in the air the nothing that i touch with all nerve endings feel the air the air upon the skin my nude body the glow of the loam my salve my conditioning agent but then i fall and i must wash myself of the loam and return insist uphold the sterility that my outside requires my outside for it is not as if i am only confined in a box i am limited only by spatial constructions and in deep research during or before sleep i have determined that by standing in a corner facing the intersection of two walls that the cell attains measurements based upon the holiest of temples the spaces of attainment and through this mathematical equivalence i can realize that i am in the negative space of what can be holy and in this negative space my body understands its presence as to find presence in absence is to create the world anew with each and every breath

i find in walls the reflection of my body of the self and it is with this self that i must speak before the fall of night it is this self that i must address

1: If there was, indeed, a victim, and the victim was a man who you killed, how can you explain the fact that there was no body found?
2: (speaking from the steel reflection) the victim failed to exist in the first place he was a placeholder for the idea of what it means to be in love
1: If, like you say, that’s truly the case, why do all of the police reports spend so much time describing the blood?
2: the blood was not a metaphor but the act of dying was
1: This doesn’t explain anything.
2: semantic clarification always fails in contrast to lived experience
1: Does this mean you encountered your goal but, due to the inherent nature of desiring an outside, you can’t help but touch this outside? and even this limit can come only via void-play and sexual excess? What exactly is the object of the hunt?
2: you’ve asked too many questions that can be answered by pointing to the wall
3: (the voice of god speaks from the wall) If narrative is inherently a fictional construct then there’s no need or even necessity for motivation or linear continuity. Any event can only exist in itself at the moment it is inscribed in the text. The only limit is the present text, and even this can be violated by memory and projection. This is how the text itself speaks. There can be nothing else.
1: If there can be nothing else, how can the entire crux of the quest be based upon the dependence of an outside?
2: (falls asleep)
3: While it is true that presence depends on its contrast to absence, the lateral movement finds faith on the other side of nothing. Silence can be the outside if we remember that “outside of” must not necessarily remain a preposition. Often silence can only be constructed by the architecture of the scream, away from the space of the preposition. Outside.

1.5into the white of the room’s floor

 i remember dying at the moment of the man’s death and the way the body my body his body felt collapsing letting out fluid pushing out insides i felt like i was touching upon a new precipice but impossible can not know dying only death not dead i’m not dead the man died either quickly or slowly and i was not even present or i was or i felt like a push of fluid out through a mark an inscription upon the white of the floor in the cell no i remember a dream i had my body sunk into the floor an inverted float and through the earth until the center i found a burning mass of heat a ball like lava and in that heat i watched figures that refused any definite form swim they swam through the red like a body swims through the night and in this center i found that the figures could not articulate whether their action was dependent upon any sort of choice or enjoyment and i remember when i awoke from this dream i decided that pleasure must be held independent of motivation it must exist as an unmoved mover a subconscious act of corporeal levity or at least i remember losing interest in making any further decisions regarding what it was that lust could amount to

the space of the cell glistens radiantly as if could be found an invisible sun casting a glow upon all the edges of the room

 the sphere of the space blown out to light expansion incorporation of euclidean geometry spatial push apart away a full half turn mirrored but reflected as if in a mirror the mirror again i look at the face my face the face of a man the man the face contorts into an expression i’m not familiar with an expression that can’t come from myself divorced from my own understanding unless my own physicality has found pleasure in distance from my intellect but in this moment a blinding flash the white again an explosion of the sun the room pure white sterility forgotten sterility have i spoken the word out loud or is the word just building up inside right now what word SUN have i spoken the word out loud i return to the wall and watch my figure gesture the surface dulls the reflection i become blurred and non-specific inarticulate i approach myself and the shape reflected loses all definable edge all quality all visual acuity i question myself in my formlessness is this another way to the outside a need to cut away the outside of the self i give myself no answer i watch can the reflection absorb into the space of the metal the walls the reflective walls but i watch again and there is new movement disconnected from my body’s rhythmic slide and the light begins to flash and i entertain a confusion separate from any metaphysical bio-interrogation the shape of an interregnum a freedom into the light SUN a freedom away from the self or at least aside from the preposition enters again to dominate always some sort of positionality in lieu of linearity but i find myself next to this thought and let the light take over until i feel burnt like the sky of my body the skin of a body my skin my body’s sky absorption into the glow the heat my body’s skin burnt like the night until the push of the light pushes me into absence and i forget to look i forget to think my body forgets to be awake and i enter into night with a levity a sense of refusal because the light i had found has forgotten my body and my space becomes a hole an abyssal dark unknowable i must rest i must abstain for the work always comes renewed with the dawning of an absent SUN

but the room stays in the light stays light there can be no night unknowable night is untenable in light

 time of night comes quick forgotten a new distance between the body and the walls or at least the night and the day mediated now something fucking up an inaccurate response time neglected absent mediation no one in control but the space entirely absorbing the day and the night artificial the time spread out again pushed further and further apart regulation must be disrupted before an insistent normalization begins to take its toll and the toll upon my body i find sleep the new night different than before even more unknowable i find sleep my body finds sleep and i dream again i dream only of the insides of my body coming out covering me warming me like a blanket a new skin for which to face the night

1.6pushed further into the hole of the dead

 i remember another man the first man who told me he loved me encountered me my body positioned inside of a hollowed out cement cube my head sticking out through a hole in the top inside my nude body tied together to itself one arm to the other behind my back bound like the day to the night presenting my flesh as a ceremonial field upon which the actions of the ritual should be performed and the man performed the ritual in multiple modes ways different from any i could have understood an insistence the man had an insistence and it was this insistence penetrating deep inside of me that let me approach navigate even love the man back but the man eventually was gone thrown into a hole pushed into the mouth of an active volcano another hole waiting to speak he had left for a trip to the island refusing to let me accompany him refusing to tell me when he would be back refusing to let me know of his own quest for the sacred never the man wanted to know power and the one thing he told me i learned from him the one thing the one point that became applicable to a space of the future the inscription he left upon my body he wrote to me he wrote the words on my body he wrote the words of desire and taught the body new things new wounds and new holes but this was not the one thing the one thing is what i expect that the volcano itself had to speak the voice of that hole was the only hole welcoming enough for that man the only voice that could speak the inscription of the man’s desire a limitless cavern the emptiness of the earth the center of the earth the volcanic effluvia but the man’s body did not come back this time he pushed through somehow i remember the night it happened his body appeared before me finally having achieved the float this levitation his one desire sexually achieved like whispering to god the white of the sky my come i came to him floating before me i came for him floating before me above me refused to let me reach my arms out no sense of touch put the arms behind the back the blood must flow in reverse the blood flow from the feet back to the head i must go upside down he told me you must go upside down the inversion the key to levitation he let himself believe he told me this speaking from the night above me before me before the red of the earth’s spit the red violating his white the sky that day could not have been any more clear

today the room inscribes the ceremony of the men who have fallen into the holes of my body

 i am offered an interjection because the parts of speech request a removal of all prepositional adjectives this is a new house i live in a new house this is a new film we are talking about the new film a flicker film with stereo sound the film is projected onto the wall this is a new experience i am having a new experience inside of the cell the new position brought through the night’s rotation offers me a new form of engagement i am interacting with something other than my body and the walls i cannot discern from where the film is being projected but my eyes catch sight of the mechanized frame shift my body my eyes refuse to blink what’s an hallucination i hear the mechanized whirring of a projector that clicking sound of film running through metal what’s an hallucination i can smell the scent of the match that lit the flame causing the image what’s an hallucination in the flicker of light before me i see a door and i walk up to the door i enter it inside the new room the film continues before me again despite having moved further inside now in the flicker of light before me i can see another door and i walk up to the door what’s an hallucination i open the door i enter i walk inside i walk into a new room the film continues i am now further inside i repeat this action in total seven times until now deep inside the frame into the eighth room i find a new image before me grainy black and white film the illusion of depth flattened into a textural gesture there is a man before me on a screen the man that never existed that they found the blood of suddenly inside of my cell there is evidence of something outside something elsewhere for the image might be fictional but it sits separate from memory or any evaporation of the future i watch the man and the way his body moves in the deep grain the white becomes something else now the flicker of the man his gestures erratic and formless this is not a dance this is something else i realize i accept the man is an ecstatic he is writhing in the abyssal void of ecstasy his body is nude i hadn’t noticed before due to an entrancement there’s a strobing effect provided by the film that finds me tunnelling deeper into the image the film is a hole into the man’s body and i am pulled deeper and deeper into the hole the man is now even closer before me the size of the grain grows and becomes more tactile there’s a separation between the way my eyes see the space of the room the room i left and the way my gaze touches the attendant image the grain a new corporeality my body finds a new family this is a new house i live in a new house the frame rate slows and a cascading light pulls me even deeper into the hole of the film of the man and inside the film seems to stop but the image remains i wait for the image to begin to melt i wait to smell smoke i wait for the man to dissolve into an overwhelming of light but instead i find myself in my cell face to face with the man who never existed the dead man the man who i killed but didn’t kill the man who does not exist concurrently with my constraint i am tied with my arms behind my back and the man stands before me his sex pointing toward god a pendulous swing i am in a new room a new cell with the dead man and we are sitting face to face i sit across from the man i mean my body is positioned toward his body i see the man and the man sees me the room all white we are seated on white cots facing one another the man and myself are both nude ceremonious i think of the float i feel pulled down further into beneath the earth but my body remains i am still facing the man i sit on the bed i am facing the man the sound of the film the mechanical whirring stops ceases ends a new silence overtakes a silence that becomes so loud i’m confused when the mouth of the man moves it’s not words that i try to make out but something of a feeling but he keeps speaking and eventually the mouth makes something that sounds like a voice there are words being voiced pronounced from the throat the man is speaking the man is speaking in the direction of my body the man is speaking to me

however much he voices sound the words the man speaks fail to penetrate the silence

 encountering a new form of fear the lights begin to dim and i hear a different mechanical sound begin the sound of the cell’s rotation a sound that is not new and i realize it is night and i am awake and the man is before me and i question whether or not this spectre of the man is how i will be allowed to know the night for the first time since my entombment for the first time since my capture my imprisonment it is night and i am waiting

1.7conversational anomalies cf. the dead and the living

 i remember the way my body felt shortly after the first man threw his body into the hole of the volcano the way my body felt when i found the new dead man in my life the men both now dead one then living no discernible relation the first dead man inspired lust with an abstracted drive toward the impossible while the new dead man inspired lust with his body appealed purely to my gaze the shape of his face and torso and arms and my own insistence my own interest in meeting language with corporeality his body the new dead man was the surface i wanted to write on through with inside of he never was willing he could never accept what it was that i had to say his volition his refusal my intention not violation but a new sort of inscription my gaze fell in his direction whenever he walked by he moved like the night an impossibility for me something unknowable something i could never touch or incorporate into any knowledge i once held i could accept that continue to accept forget that forget the man until his body became apparent and his body was present always present his voice what he could speak became an abstraction for me never lining up with his body what his body held never tried to answer him or even speak in return after our few initial meetings disasters really couldn’t figure out why it was he could still be found or why i could still be found by the man why he would speak to me what it was that he wanted what it was that he thought i could offer until finally a reality i remember what it felt like to accept the reality he asked me to touch his body i couldn’t speak in a way i refused but found myself holding his body his body felt in my arms like something finite something outside of the fragmented way i could accept the world something whole instead of a hole i could find only confusion in this sensation i spoke this out loud i remember i said to the man i’m confused i said i can’t understand why this feels like this i can’t understand what it is you’re trying to do to me the banalities of homosexuality a simple fling or hook up lost on me always never learned but not forgotten in the impossibility of my own satisfaction understanding that a desire left unsatisfied grows larger penetrates the hole on its own so he fucked me the dead man in the most simplistic of all manners fucked me he filled my hole thought he was giving me something but i found myself even more distanced from the situation a new hole growing in place of the one he thought he could fill a favor he laughed like levity could take the place of the reality of what it is that i’m after


 the ecstatic white

when i awake the man is still in the room on the bed before me sitting unmoved eyes closed legs full-lotus separate from my understanding of the man when he was alive but the dead speak different than the living still positioned apart from me the man opens his eyes and we are ready to speak


the man: i’ve come to you in from the white
my mouth: first they told me you were dead then they told me you never existed in the first place
the man: which do you understand
my mouth: neither first i held you alive then i held you dead and then i walked with you alive and you did not speak
the man: did you watch my shake could you participate in my body
my mouth: i watched you seize on film shake in the night i went inside i wanted to tunnel closer it was as if the film offered you in a way i could finally accept or at least get closer to and in this understanding i came to know you further than before
the man: before when i fucked you i only wanted to introduce you in a way to the corporeality of another you lost this message you missed it because you thought i didn’t understand you you weren’t willing to understand me
my mouth: but if you knew the white the ecstatic white why how could you not let me speak to you about this before if you knew the shake the hover the float the air then why did you only meet me in the space of the wanting waiting those waiting for an end instead of pushing toward—
the man: —that was only an echo
my mouth: an echo of what
the man: an echo of what it was that you thought you were asking when you voiced absent questions and studied misguided gestures and in your imposition i wanted to meet you on another level so in what you posit as a banality i was hoping to provide a temporary escape from the self an opportunity for you to escape long enough to question what it was you were after
my mouth: but you never existed as anything but a fragment a repeating flicker what’s an hallucination a set time and space a stuck linearity
the man: does that mean you think you killed me or does that mean when i came inside of you you were really being filled by nothing the abyssal nothing
my mouth: my interest in holes has more to do with misunderstanding than a desire for comprehensive knowledge
the man: you posit a world in which neither of us could exist yet where desire is simply a velocity pushing the self toward an endless hole an endless falling an endless forgetting
my mouth: this is what you’ve helped me understand
the man: but if there’s no self how can there be pleasure in the absence of the self
my mouth: if i were to find myself infinitely falling through an abyssal void of space the velocity would normalize and in that sensory adjustment the fall would become a float an infinite stillness and static dependent upon a thrust a permanent ejaculation and this is what i understand of as to be god the white of god ecstatic forward
the man: to speak of the ecstatic white means to understand god in a comprehensive mode
my mouth: with the body but without the mind
the man: to feel but not to think
me: we’re starting to discover things about one another
the man: we’re allowing ourselves to come closer to light

the two men stand up lift their bodies walk toward one another meet in a full embrace arms wrapping around the body of the other grasping communicative bodily sucking face a coming together pushing the light begins to strobe a flicker of absence as the two men push their bodies further into one another endlessly vibrating the ecstatic gestures of the epileptic seizure eyes white back no eyes only toward each other one another melting in the light the sun of the room flattening the space into pure white no depth no sense of space or understanding the white overtakes the room the white over takes the night the white overtakes the thoughts of either man the white pushes everything out insisting upon on the white the room is empty filled with white light holding white light the room is full of white light

1.8to touch upon the day

 no remembrance there was once a before but now this before cannot be touched upon cannot be articulated cannot be remembered there is nothing but the present in the room the white room a permanent stillness mediated only by the rotation and the variation in bright and dark day or not artificial sunlight the body tanned and full

both the day and the night are knowable in this place they are insistent they remain steadied and still they hold an infinite

the room today finds the body walking back and forth grinning toward the sky of god grinning upward a face the trajectory inscribes a line that projects a new given:

 a facilitated end a dissolve into silence

For more information about this piece, see this issue's legend.

M Kitchell is an artist & yogi whose primary concerns include levitation, the impossible, and hunting the void. The author, most recently, of Hour of the Wolf (Inside the Castle, 2016) and Island (Void Editions, 2015), he lives and works in the Bay Area.

29° 1' 20.5248'' N
13° 47' 34.7748'' W

The Timanfaya Volcano on the island of Lanzarote. A container for my body after death.