Biolody Thing

How and why is this being done? A peculiar sense of enjoyment resides within this constructed world of safety. You are trying to feel that you are putting yourself at great risk although a silent voice keeps its pace - you never really know - something terrible could happen.

A medieval laugh, uncontrollable, rattles and swings through many guises, adopting symbols to speak - not with words but with visions, sensational in style, too sugary for some, too abstract for others. Disjointed frames shift in and out, amusing the wonderer who hides beneath the canons of time, ashamed and strangled by self doubt.

And all the while we are seeking to emulate this sense of teetering on the edge, finding the limit to push oneself - how to determine when one action is both an act of brutality and a thrill, and investigation into one's edges.

It can get quite tiring sometimes. Simple things - if only to be satisfied by them. Activation, becomes better than the subject - slapping your jelly, rippling your legs, reinforcing your eyeballs as they roll around empty cavities. This process slowly forms a ritual that becomes increasingly habitual.

It's not concerned with trying to recreate some other worldly planet or existence. It's all more about how the rules function here and how to use them, the operation of patterns - poking in and rummaging around for some root, an intimacy between human intention and the building blocks of this stuff of matter.

Often a common feeling is the sense of lack of knowledge, experience, a sense of naivety, self-consciousness. Yet no matter how much training or research is done it only acts to pull you further off course. Everyone sees that, heard it all before, a common obsession. But don't let that put you off. Whatever it is won't establish itself clearly or coherently, their drums won't beat in line with your heart but by the time you know it you will be following their rhythm.

Beneath the skin rumbles sticky fibres, mucous recoats internal passage ways, interrupted by intermittent spasms - micro muscles forming rings around some swallowed subject. The acid secreted gradually peels away surface by surface, as one thing transfers itself through the imagined membranes that constitute your insides.

It becomes impossible to determine whether the following set of sensations exist physically or are a figment of your psychology - lifted gently through a set of contradicting inhalations. Waiting for a punctuation which only holds off. Lump, one great lump extends and interferes with the light scattered across retinas - one universe consumed inside the eyes.

Is this a joint or singular experience? What does the passing of time have to do with the unfolding of this moment? Conversations between histories perhaps, a suggestion which went further than an idea.

A search for logic within the development of a structure in these words, may well be a wasted effort. Movement on the other hand is an important force, something which should direct the passage of ideas through an expansion in several directions at once.

Just as pulsations may be sent down nerve fibres branching in three dimensions - splitting one surface into strings pulled through every angle of the sphere - thoughts can consume their surroundings in the same way. A miniscule speck slowly attracts sediment, sucking, rolling and grabbing bits that contact its surface - and its surface area expands exponentially.

As material becomes charged and jumps to join this terrain, a void is left behind. As the balance is tipped further, the contrast in density between each extreme gives birth to a intense pair - a tug of war between an emaciated vacuum and a giant gravitational glob. One greater for containing everything in its greed, the other wild in a hunger stretching and devouring thin air.

On a more human scale loneliness becomes a common symptom - or perhaps more, the inability to contain enough content to feel full. Bounded by this delicate skin, it is as if a hole has crept into the bottom, forcing open an exit greater in size that the neck of the entrance. So now, no matter at what rate a filling is pumped in, it continues to be expelled just as fast as it entered in. But if this gaping exit is then swapped for the entrance and pumped to the same degree, the thing will brim and stretch with contents that cannot be expelled fast enough. We are then left with an added risk of explosion as the pressure becomes too great to be contained. So what is the preferred situation? Is it possible to train asses to speak, to eat, to sing and breathe and for mouths to shit and fart and bleed?

Violated by life, in the most tolerant of ways, an addiction nests within each weakness. Yet, something more subtle resides between the infected folds of this tract. A tight feeling that is impossible to locate either in position or scale. A pale throb which slowly swells in relation to the varied occurrences of everyday activities. Through a gradual process, this forms predictable patterns which if paid attention, provide a root into a constant that can become a meter to that which you would best ignore.