I begin to make something with the part of me that wants to move out (side) and around. In the end — when i stop the thing from changing by removing my will — i hope to be content with its (dis)order.
What is exposed, what is made, is eventually detached from my hopes in (dis)order to becomes itself. It is no longer a part of me, it is a part of the world. It talks for itself, saying things i could never think it would say, louder than i dreamt it might say them.
Meanwhile, i analyze what has come a part — and before — from me. I attempt to understand what i have uncovered — what is being illuminated — through re-playing and re-shaping the matters at hand. Sometimes i come to an understanding and other times i have to tear myself away from a tendency to fall off into an infinite hyper-critical abyss.
I remember a present a friend gave me for my 26th birthday. A message scribbled on a small piece of paper wrapped around a match and placed in a tiny bottle labeled “Love is a feeling like a warm black stone.” The message says: “Why are we bent on measurement? Why do we measure and how? Is yours a milimeter longer? Oh, wow.”
Reading this i am still at the beginning of forming answers to these questions. The only thing i know for sure is that the tone in which i imagine, “Is yours a milimeter longer? Oh, wow” to be read in is somewhat cavalier. How i might begin to answer this friendly and beautifully packaged birthday question is to comment that (currently) I wear a size 6 in GAP jeans, a size 4 in Banana Republic, and can squeeze myself into a pair of 28 Sevens. Very meaningful stuff.
Measurement is for fitting in. I am all for being in and out and together and apart already. How this came about, i don’t know, there’s probably some documentation around, but — things disappear — maybe I just don’t want those parts to be seen. Anyway, what’s the matter with hanging out, re-generating everything, and dieing to bring perspective to re-forming standards of measurement?
True Blue Island 
Leave a comment