Aug 23, 2012
The room falls into the sea from the north as if cliffside. It could be out of
sorts with air surf anti matter gum threads opening in the southeast. It's the
roots of the sea in the bowling vessels that stabilize the angle. It's a fold
along space where echoes collect, leaving lines on the floor, living shadows
with which to dance and write, to break into the world with this rolling
unconscious of history.
The room opens onto a cliff in the other direction, stalking higher and
higher an obsessive angle leading gravity down to the airport valley and
Colombia slough to the north. Wet snakes slip through rivers and seas to the
north west of the room. From time to time there are fireworks in the fans.
Whispers, breaths of wind in dust memes of apocalypse stirred by the raccoons of
The tunnel's exit is an obstacle course that doesn't hold its shape.
---Attempt to poetically psycho-geographize a room, and think in extended and
microscopic spacial terms.