The problem of seeking to protect yourself by adornment with the debris of your persecution. Formulating the self from its anti-matter - what else is there...? Repetition, reformulation. The febrile minutia of of stimula; trauma. Gender composition, genital exhibition. In contrast to Rothko's binary genital repetition. This was reproductive, at least. Fertile too, in an apocalyptic copulative way. Prolifically femenine. A mesmerising red silk blood surge from the bird baby, leaving deposits of respiring cells. Against the clock, in time. And the scale and quantity of it, so voraciously composite, a demonstration of the impossibility of accident, and the eloquence of the most mute intent. Toys multiplied into nightmares; delirium of a thousand crayons.
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Being like hourselves
in ways that make voices
sound more quiet
and taste more adamant
and touch fewer evils
and appear less fraudulent
and smell more indigenous.
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