Patient A,
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.
-DBL
* * * * *
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