A cloak and a box for the hungers
and the shadow
of the disallowed
as means by which to define the body.
There is no single hunger
other than life. Or there is but a single hunger called life, endlessly nuanced
unto the raging obesity of the civil.
Original stuff, not yet differentiated stuff, this shapeless clay of being: Being in need. The mud born of deep sea vents, super-heated chemosynthesis, the discharge washed ashore as a tidal friction of the possible.
The body as medium by which to format the great hidden greeds. A clay mesh of combed and re-combed base information.
This ongoing savour can be read and re-read
forming different aspects and different bodies
and difference is the inheritable means of re-reading inheritance.
We both take in and express the nuance, we twist and touch the marks, live in hunger, live in the manner of our reading.
Abreaction brings expression of the hidden to consciousness. A ragged shoreline of living and re-living; waves of relief and leaving, a saggy pool of thought in its own purgation.
Walk along this beach. If the line is continued for long enough, then the expression may be integrated. Integrated lines are woven into bridges.
Some lines dissolve. We hide our trail beneath splash marks, we float out to sea on an inflatable.These dissolved lines make for a monstrous immediacy; these are the sea-devils. The sickness of panic.
These forms, not welcomed, refuse to form, and the unformed must be urgently repulsed. They are pushed back beneath the cloak.
The sea is a cloak.
The cloak must stored in a box.
The box is built of shadows, sunk in the sea, buried in the earth.
We wear the earth as our body.