<previous

>next

lrl3 home

the catastrophe

This is strange tongue in the form of a heart where atoms of color dance, colors of manifestations on the soft ground of conscience. This is an illustrated fish, a little blue fork or prongs as incarnations. This is a bucket of energy, a barred spiral. This sand bar permits the passage of blood with variations, horizontal. Light. This light is on a dark blue ground or a deep red ground or a midnight green ground, a disk of dancing metal arrows, all show. Ruling colors of the spiral, precipitous, terrifying, an ancient treaty. Give up the idea of the state. Can it be said? To whom can it be said? To someone’s father or mother? The world, night, demolition of homes, control of water. Lack of water. Build and destroy. Trial. Walls of the moat or the room, their design and multiplication, constant dialogue of light and shade. Narrow verticals. Rise. All rise. Rare and free. Or rather free. A little free. An image of redefining, explicit, the point of the arrow, head down. Twice the energy. Little known and less represented. Observed in various visible forms, clarity, display. Evolving. The many. The tongue as haptic form evoking that principle.