I Eat Soil

I: remember reading about the soil eaters-- women, somewhere who compulsively consume red earth. Though I do not eat dirt,  I understand compulsion. It stems from multiple channels of input layering into a single stream. I seek to separate them long enough to have an idea separate from its thought.


II: My skin pimples against the cold as I remove my outer layers of clothing. It takes a moment to adjust to the new ambient atmosphere. Looking into the dish of crystalizing salts, the resinous mass seems to be supportive. The experiment in natural design is a simple experiment based on the flaws of radionics. In seeking to simplify the durability of the definition of life, living matter became matter animated. I am seeking to animate nonliving temporal matter using the building blocks of method and misappropriated theory.

III: The pounds have been dissolving into my bloodstream. Designer denim was build for my current frame. Hints of curves join planar surfaces. I am half way through the modification on my right arm. The brand will be a circlet of neighboring points. I have nine or ten dots beginning above the elbow of my right arm, they march toward my forearm. These small burns heal in sync with the date of their induction onto my flesh from still pierced purple to near white and slightly raised from my previous casing. They adorn my beautiful arm.

IV: e been at such a loss for touch as well as a loss for sleep. The many projects that I maintain, love, and nourish are costly. We never know the cost until we are asked to pay.