The composition of any given aura is a painterly
mix. So I’ll choose the shadow colours grey and
pixelate. However the cold comes this year I will
wear that same grey chorus and my own corona
—should I imagine—will be as rich with matter
as a furnace. Help, I’m seriously thinning. Not
in body but metaphysics. Seriously pale in the
main street and in bed—surfing a thin line—
in the blanket—heat—and thinner in the water.
At the gallery I slipped one out. All over I’ve taken.
This ability to fetish is downplayed—black behind
that sheer—and where a caption could emphasise
percentage grey in style. Trolleys,
automotive parts, the history of photography
and film, now in union throats and disclaimers plus
that famous sliced eye. This fetish travels—and has
to do with how we move—skeletal, adrenal
and related systems. The days are seriously slow
stereo—why not adding in a socket—for the old gas tube.
1 February 2016