We infect more than we know. To live in a bubble is not human…or earth like. Disease is a choice and is a natural fact. The only way to describe life is to give you the two extremes, in hopes you fill in the rest.
A birth is an infection of an egg.
A disease is a gift of love.
* * * * *
Film on Wood
In a room with bundles of cable, multi strained coiled, there is a seat. Dust will kick up for the first guest to enter this long vacant place. On the table are pliers, a soldiering gun, a last minute task. In the rafters are more wires each a different color. Draped over a beam falling to the floor. A décor with no aesthetical purpose but telling. Wires that fall make a wall, beyond this wall assorted forgotten devices, car LCD screens, light fixtures, microphones of varying degree, radios and speakers, in no real organized fashion. In a corner an empty water cooler. Double back look at the object that came before, the seat is still vacant. A wooden swivel chair facing a small table by the door. This door is of a wooden type, deadbolt doorknob, cracking paint, nothing much to mention, severed link. There is no dry wall on the walls. The inside is the inside of this room. The framing does well to collect the dust. Old screens of computer type can ultimately be seen on more then one table that echo in this space. The table by the door will open more. Left before this mental entry there was placed a note on paper, now it lay, when it spoke is said this:
The last time I saw you it was not in a way in which I could touch
But I knew it was you
By the way your presence made me feel
And the black that I saw
In the skirts that did flow
In my mind that I know I chose to doom
In the acceptance you did not see
In the movement of your destructive ease
In a choice I sacrifice my life
In the way I exist
Nothing is more than twice the fight
When I leave and my fluids flow to another
It’s a risk I can never seem to deject
In my state I chose to be
In this moment I let it free
All I have is my work
It is I