Wednesday, April 16, 2008

8.55pm, Nottingham

Along the way...

From an exercise in finality, self-erasure, and an un-investment in futurity, comes a parallel track. Written alongside, in binary code, is a fatal rehearsal - a mirror image. A flicker in the distance each month. I know that you are there. What is less certain, is my location.

My departure from the event, to the dedicated task, to the rehearsal without a script. A counter-point to a counter-narrative, I have spent the last 12 months dealing with the dynamics of this new space that you helped me to clear. By giving up the thing itself, we traced its outline and I spent that time settled in its empty bed, while you wrote it something new far away. This space has been, by its very nature, a strange one – uncanny in its architecture and unknowable in its trajectory. I did not still don’t know where this space takes us, but I recognize its framework from it’s enforced departure a year ago.

3:37 scraps on a piece of paper… 3:37 meditations on places I can’t get to… 3:37 locations that replay us… 3:37 wonderment at lost souls… 3:37 punctures in the present… 3:37 ways out...

I am clear about the gift. That in taking up this torch song, you created a tear across our year, its perforations dashing in short lines every month. We are forced to remember, but this memory is constructed out of something new. We bare witness, but the act is always elusive and has happened elsewhere. Along this perforated line, I play the dots to your dashes, and vice versa. What are we asking in our collective code, if not for an SOS?

3:37 save our souls…

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