FRAGMENTS

Stopping and starting. The grate of speeds. Layering that is affective to our churning dispositions. We can not altogether keep up. In the embrace of surfaces there is a gulp. A void. A sudden hesitation than a rinsing through. In the wash our bodies travel downstream. The air-pocket we never noticed in the clasp of backs- the indent at the lower back goes pop- - like the palms of our hands trapping and then punching free the vacuum. The vacuum suddenly filled. Our bodies meet the ground. It is too fast for decision-making. It is over before we know we are there. We are just there. And already it is over. We are still, resting up against one another back to back like long-distance runners catching our breath- heaving and ho-ing pulsating on and off of one another- the slightest of leverage- in this undulating poise. This sitting. This beckoning and repulsing that is our stature there on the ground with legs spread out in front.


We are waiting for the weight to continue falling as if there was still this upwards floatinnes in the chest, in the arms that rise and fall extending the gap between arm-pits- the flow of air across our body surface extensive- a cooling- sweat drying on the brow- trapped in the folds of our clasped together backs that prize apart and together again in order to release that heat into the atmosphere. Steam rising. Body mass intensifying- squeeze and release- this folding machine that we have compiled between our skins.


Now to press a little more. To reposition into the curves of one another. To puzzle out the meet and match of each inward and outward curve as the negative fill to our solitary gaps. The clasp is secured in minute testings of pressure response that build and build to create a viable hold and continue to build in intensity till they are affective of our whole torso. They activate our leg muscles that simultaneously taughten as our sacrum’s engage and so we draw our feet together and under our bellies, plant them squarely on the floor and push up through our soles. A jet of compression like an inert piece of string suddenly erecting.


We are these thread-lines now standing back to back pushing lightly on and off of one another- floating in the levitation of this gentle and continuous propulsion away from the slight angle of a tilt. This on off is a kind of pump- the cursion of a beat like a melody that is resting in the small circuits of going this way and returning that way and going this way again over and over. It is the moves of the story interruption so that the waywardness of direction is enfolded back on itself and in this slight shufflement it becomes a staggered breath- the holding of all possibilities in a stifled but thrusting line. It rebounds back and forward front and back onto and away from itself rooted through the feet like a clasp that opens and closes between two bodies.


Then one body veers around- lurches and curves into the space around the corner of the other body, the tautness suddenly collapsed and enfolded around this shattered attention, clipped in its procedure, robbed of support in the moment of its giving.

A fall that should have been a rest, that escalates- becoming something real- a sudden coming undone so that string-like it dives and slips backwards and headfirst like a crumpled vestment over the broken bridge of the other. It slides off and lands on the other side stretched out and reaching snake-like along the ground, amassing and un-massing, arching and extending. The crumbling arch of the other body follows through into this crawling rolling thrust now lateral to the floor and looses its structure on each new point of contact, absorbing into the other and being absorbed in like measure, before running out that pattern; coming undone and diminishing finally into an entropy that slides and crosses in two directions, the vastness of this terrain.