''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.
[email protected]
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.
*