i close shut the door and pray.
I saw you first on a potent day. Echoing space of mouldy bread rolls. That night i dreamt of the white flush of light from your windows. rows. shouldering. i performed on those plush velour sofas. an act of my white skin on your red wound. Whilst seated there, i found my way again.
the second time
photos to pin down that laughter dancing around our renewal
the always smell of piss
this days sun spilling
brushes my floor and my walls
and my ceilings
can i ever own you?
i have been given a new lease of life
because of your dereliction
your loss is my gain...
each action becomes a question (i scrape away glue from the lino that held firm the carpet) each action asks me its intention. an act of practicality. a function. an act of desire or an act performed by a puppet. dangling helplessly from her strings.
as the building sits tight in the grip of the hang-mans noose, the wrecking ball anticipates. ticks out time. the mocking tick of a clock defacing calendar pages. there is less time already. and less now.
does the fabric of the building feel its impending end? i feel its loss. i hear the ticking prelude to the pendulums first swing.
the space stands silent. dumb witness? once container? if i listen very hard i CAN hear the heartbeat. in the afternoon heat the metal security grids warp and vibrate a single dull dead pan note from deep in its soul.
what can this place tell us anyway? listen. the building does speak. its empty rooms whisper. my echoing footfalls span the past and future.
here sits an hour glass with sand grains. the glass cannot be turned. smoothly the grains pour through. finite, without choice.
HOW CAN A BUILDING BE CONSIDERED?
a shield, a skin, a perimeter fence between the outside and the in.
a canvas, our bodies rewriting the space. histories brought from distant lands and woven into the sheer fabric of the walls. ghee covers the tiles in the kitchen. new skin, which i peel away.
A BUILDING ON DEATH ROW
these rooms are mothers, that nurtured lives, (now stripped bare, humiliated, left kneeling meekly before the gallows).
this private space of intimacy
the carcass as raw wounds
the building is victim.. gagged. let us give it a moment to speak. THE LAST REQUEST IT HAS IS UTTERANCE.
THE ACT OF CLEANING, THE BODIES MARK MAKING
cleaning. spring cleaning. the act of renewal. re-invigorating.
dereliction. the act of decay. stagnation. degeneration.
i work avidly in my condemned rooms, cleaning, refreshing, invigorating. acts essentially futile.
the end always begins at the start
we might have been here