''Maybe I Can, Too'' «interactive demo» by [[Joe Sutton|Contact]] [[Begin|First]] i had grown with a heart inside me but it's not my own, or i don't think it is. i'm not sure. [[>>|Second]][[a parasite|parasite]] on all organs of [[this body|Body]], borrowed, though the heart especially; when i act up i can feel its burn that disturbs me. sometimes, when i don't know what else to do, i put my hand to my breast and feel no beating. as if it weren't even there (and i know it isn't, really) i lace my fingers atop the rough, stony surface of [[the herma's head|Face]]. his textureless eyes concern me; it's safest below the neckline, [[his body|FF Bod]] just an oblong rectangle, no detail nor organic shape to him but for the design of genitalia where mine would be. this is the marker for [[the borders of my heart|Glass]] to degrade, some day, by the wind if nothing else. that face imprinted upon frame upon frame of magnetic tape, a timeline [[constrained|Prison]] to a few minutes shareware transitional slideshow muzak collaging one angle of him to another, a cubist hyperreal sculpture, a promise. when those [[eyes|Eyes]] paint the pores and fill the gaps you've always worn the mask proceed to the [[charged glass|Prison]]. i want to dissolve through it. stuck as tiles glittering with [[illusory miasma|Scar]], flattening the world to a [[slick plane|Corridor]] and become shattered. walk tile-by- tile, leather soles succint in their steps upon the waxed/buffed surface--and breathe out, feeling the slightest pressure from chest, [[a sigh|Inhale]] flexio-printed upon overlay (a vocabulary shaping [[this corridor|Body]]'s exit, reflected in [[your countenance|Face]]). i love that-- the echo of heels--and see it, raise it by my heart palpitation (standing alone in the shower, babbling). and inhale the fuzzy-texture diffused under that glass atrium, in [[haunting dreams|Maze]] to take me back, codified with unease, constraint-- [[the secret|Secret]]-- woven hands casting regretful and longing repressed shadow [[puppets|Sculpture]]. my body of [[corridors|Corridor]], a circuamblatory exchange of days, shades, [[shuffled about|Maze]] and [[wrecked|Scar]]. spanning mazes of membrane, poring over the labyrinth and following foot- steps; where can i [[draw|Draw]], channel the solid self? the enormous self, house of [[the avatar|Herma]] this spirit inside, felt with anger but also a little sadness in its familiarity. [[partitioned|Prison]] and absent even from dream yet felt through every conversation with myself--its role as an anti-conscience. and the worry in the day-to-day that i've been [[losing even myself|Maze]]; what would happen to the little one inside? to circumambulate, gauge and record-- design a topography or sculpture in my own psychic image (my body, mechanized) an architecture-- i've [[walked|Corridor]] all morning to map out the flesh halls, to find the [[abrasions|Scar]], investigate the hurt. we're building a statue to know him better; to examine from all angles, feel. we've chosen all the materials, the designs are here, you can see them. must we build the narrative of our hero-- it feels useless to seek approval of the ordeal, especially in one so abhorrent. though, disconcertingly, for someone we did not know, he is like our own personal god--both an ideal for everything one should hate and hope to be. view this sculpture; he might as well be anyone. we're merely seeking him out, extracting him from a body. [[>>|Path]]a repugnant shroud of miasma i wear ([[eyes on me|Eyes]]) flushed, a coil skin shed from obsessive picking at scabs, an abscess-- desire to tear it inside-out; spread it awash on walls, the floor: animated flesh compressed into compact disc, the full-motion [[video|Face]] sharpened to revulsion. the body cuts in [[conflict with surrounding static environment|Glass]] (immersion broken as skin) from increased resolution in-engine. writhing rattle [[reverberating|Maze]] into past's spiral ever since first eyes on me slung (staring at my wine glass) from the invasive piercing of the cell, making due with [[the ordeal|Scar]], a harbinger? an image i play host to, carry in my words, this [[little daemon|FF Bod]] watching, for- lorn from a prism, [[a quarantine ascribed to the body|Maze]]. it is [[forbidden information|Face]] to [[sculpt|Sculpture]] from my hands. i could get my palms red-handed. joesutton100@gmail.com http://joesutton.me [[<<|Start]]just two of us walking silently--no need to discuss, cover up--content in the silence. [[>>|Path2]]in him i carried an ideal before i knew myself. someone i no longer am-- [[>>|Path3]]today i will say i don't care enough of other people. but i know that it's just fear, inaction. [[>>|Path4]][[perhaps|Start]] i didn't want to be the one i've become. *