open/shut/
cold air comes off a window. you can't see it. if you touch the window pane with a finger the warmth of your blood leaves a trace. how does air travel through things. some substances let air through so easily. we pull curtains together to keep the dark out. there are words for some things, like: cold, yes, that, and. the words stick to the other words. they are a thing but not the thing they say they are. words never mean what they say.
the saying is pointing, the thing-ing to be-ing. sometimes the air feels colder inside the house. maybe it used to be more cold. this house is a tent only made of wood. at what point does a tent become a house. these walls bend, they ruffle and blow. it only becomes warm when people breathe. blow to cool hot fluids. the cup holds black sediment and the lost lip of a face. when you put your mouth to the cup you might not get your mouth back.
obstacle/
you walk between rooms to find things with your fingers. you get up and look. it isn't enough just to get up. to be up you must also be looking and finding. is it a hot light on your face at dark. is it the ceramic ring of a fingernail. you move along the hall, up a stair. things touch you and alter the trajectory of your course. the air is thick with possibility. the air is striped with balustrades. your hair gets in your mouth, at which point it belongs to somewhere-one else because it doesn't hurt when you cut your hair with scissors.
action/
you had forgotten a thing and so you went to find it. forgetting is something. remembering is the same. the reasons for which we travel to and from objects, the things that point towards and away are not different, though we can never remember the reasons. when travelling we put one foot in front of the other foot and pass through thresholds from room to room. moving to look and looking to move. you put your foot on the floor and then another foot in front of the foot you put on the floor. you pick up the thing then put it down a short distance away, not forgetting to pick it up again but remembering to put it down. the thing you are finding is same thing that you could be about to lose.
access/
you got up for the first time and felt the underside of a ceiling with your feet. you are tortoised in soft plaster. then you pulled your body into space. where the points by which your body was connected to things were few. the place where your body was connecting to things was at the ends of your legs. the process of minimising points at which your body is connected to things. de-earthing. you connect to a frame, a projection, a fishing sinker, a flame. lines to cross over and cross over. cracks to step on and push your fingers into. a dread-lock of fine filaments meshed into mat, a letterbox, a margarine, a plastic bag.
