the modern bardo, c/o : SB.,

I have a persisting habit of amassing stuff, collecting and holding on to anything that crosses vision and memory, appealling to belief until becoming a quilted monolith, an unceasing nebulous greyness, without distinction.This space is the mirror in which the ideal is formed, Lacanian infants beginning first flights on vast oceans, witnesses to leering ideal Babylonian prostitutes on Aurore's horizons, and needless tongues creeping in alleys 'casting light'.

*****

These are the rooms of the Tower, where language is nulled and naturalised, pinioned demurrings in abstract spaces, ruins and blurred outlines of people outstretched, of backalleys and crowned, blushing infant queens and sun setting over a pier in flores, noplaces and past lands where the ocean cuts through with sharpened blue fjords and trees arabesque white background.

*****

Here is the tissue of quotations, where the notes of the score are cut out and the staves are stranded, the goldfish bowls are filled with fine grains and gorges hint at spectral lights further down, where I find no transcendental unity but monoliths and basins, perspectives of bridge arches still standing, fogs and cranes and aluminium skulls of children, the night saxophones have ceased and wax furls down bottles.

*****

There is light, and there is the subdued self in the wild desert frontier plains, encountering the naguals with half-assed smiles and innocent eyes in the lucid chapels, where the sorcerers jump into the valley basin as the last test, of faith, and ability. Where the putative eye ends. 'A sound that calls people from far away, for I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs, and the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns.'

*****

It's really a state that needs to be approached correctly though. Like, with a cup of shitty grainy coffee and a smudgedcigarette, when that morning coat of coarse skein hasn't been lifted, when the yellowish stains appear more grotesque and shameful.

*****

This the modern bardo for the precession of simulacra, the sprawling map, the transmigrated meaning, thrusting in a total absence.

SB.