Like being beamed from one place to another, particles colliding in a furious manner, trying to stick together without any formal direction, no where to go but throughout, and ending up on the other side: leg outta head, hands jutting from chest, all limbs melted into one, but generally everything is still functioning. No count backward from 10 before it all happens again, and maybe this time things will sort themselves out. An escape door that only leads to more exits, finding one’s self lost among hatches and sliding doors that have no real meaning or gesture, but only to serve as a gateway to other trap doors. A Chinese finger trap. An unending present. Find the gift in FEATHER by Metome, and never encircle the discipline of “meaning” ever again! Grip it on the reel via FRESH-NEW label: postgeography. ASAP, YO!!!
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