Why the collection, collation, containment of a million things? Collared, cornered and stacked in wait, cornerstones of capitalist coercion. Stay inside, surround yourselves.
The vulgarity of walking is that you can do it for a very, very, very long time without becoming tired. Also vulgar: the pair of shoes that never wear through…but when they do, collapse with you.
Why traverse the globe when only fingertips and eyes need exercise? Make lists of the things you need, take classes that teach you how to breathe, ingest plastic, talk of plastic as it insinuates itself into DNA and stitches us into walls; rigidifying minds and hardening response to planet-cries.
Tears are free water and therefore inherently subversive.
The best ugliness of life is its permeability, its leakages and plasticity, the dribbles and dregs that give us legs compelling us to crawl beyond containment.
We imagine a balloon as beauteous until burst – contents (fleetingly owned) merged and re-dispersed. Sharply painful as it is to feel our bulbous notions pop against us, are payments made to ignorance via land, mind, sea, skies brimmed with detritus?
A man once said, “All dribble-cell life-forms must be contained by their collections which actually collect them.” Walls of print and text and picture data to cordon human stench.
In revolt: air-fresheners of body odour, human-scent – for it’s more of ourselves we need and who then left to s(m)ell to? Collect each other’s underwear, drink in a broth of lips and mounds of flesh and eyes. (Nothing really points to our demise so long as we are dead before we have to meet it.)
If I perfumed myself with smoke and tears and sweat and removed all clothing, ninety-six days unwashed, and rose above the street with outstretched arms and widely spread legs, would it be enough to promote immediacy of body, love, heat, sense-thought; action? I want a stench to shatter screens.
Residents and passers-by, don your best walking shoes. Befriend yourself with both pavement bitumen and untrodden paths, make haste to leave and alter pace to learn the ways of the unguarded, to tear apart the bookshelves and other stacks of things that bar you from the ever-permeable instantaneity of living.