Where are you standing? By the door, surrounded by the light, following everything, person by person, trying not to let yourself go?
Stand by the door, next to the entrance. Taking it in. Maybe you already have. Maybe you're finished with it, done. Over it. Time for smoking. Time to go. Outside. Tothe bar. Back to
Old friends
With whom you haven't talked
In ages. Maybe,
Thoughts? Impressions? Memories of the last time we were here. Or, in a place that looked exactly like this, anyway.
In the other room, possibly hidden from you for all time; but always working. (where are we?). This is for the reasonable ones. This is gallerymusic. For us. For them. For the gallery. For Francesca Pia. Forever. A kind of endless, beggining-less, middle-less. Formless. Possibility lessons. Awake in a gallery are you asleep? Or, at best: can we hope for that? You, standing in a living dream. Dreams come true in this, uh, place. Nevermind the haters, squanderers. Put them away. Far away. out of your mind. ( Dreamers' dreams come true.) We match you watch. You listen t'us cuz i'm watching you, watch yourself watch while we listen. Listen to your mind. Superluminal quantum connected-ness. Communication's Probable cause. From one to another costs one-million washed all over the wall. The cleanest orphan watches falsity, really pretends, and curses: “Prices rise! our spirits are low, low, low!” That's the fate we managed to avoid 'til recent days. Then, quickly, things began, or seemed to tuern around. Fucking cliché. Berlin/Zurich/London (Brooklyn falls. *BZL from now on. Final print things your never fergetfull mind pretends to tell what every mother fears for most their children, fall fall fall.. falling. Fall, all fall!
I'm sitting here, in a room in berlin.
Immateriality it is the light we breathe. We stare into darkness, flowershapes formulate slow beginnings, take shape and accelerate. Splash. You're in. or else, doesn't have to, in case you resist it. I had a hard time getting to the point, but I’m almost there, if it hasn’t already dissolved into a faint blur clouding the rest of what I try to say. Actually, this I prefer. Clarity obliterated into an essence. That’s all language can offer me and it achieves this well. That’s why gallerymusic chooses me and not the other way around.
The more they know about you
The less they know you.
The more they think they know you
The less you think of them.
One less trip to the butcher-
To the only one who truly knows
What is inside, underneath the surface,
Wherein tenderness doth lye.
Clarity obliterated into an essence;
You’re on your own now;
you are your own know.
The new writ
Abandon comes with causes always.
The younger ones know
What not to do
And do it.
Time again for baby cries
I can’t wait til the
Stop after next.
Rainbows make me sad
When the bloody, broken unicorns
Writhe in utmost agoniss agonizing bliss.
Rainbows make me happy
When dead unicorns
Lie broken underneath
Their sickendly hued arches.
Where are you standing? Over by the doorway, surrounded by light, trying not to follow person by person not to let yourself in?
