Thursday, June 21, 2012

Steve Tills

Grenier's grout and tile

Wall, Floor, Ceiling, Window, Air, Lights, Doors, Doorknobs, Cubicles, Desks, Chairs, Heat, Drafts, Temperature, Humidity, Sounds, Ventilation Hums, Surfaces, Edges, Contours, Colors, Textures, Shadows, Light, Mites, Carpet, Drywall, Paint, Tiles, Molding, Trim, Concrete Blocks,

How to proceed, by color or any other’s order or orders. Either/bore.  Roaring 20’s reality show evenings rear their not-heads all the way to the caffeine machinery of nite shifts light.  Like listening to the drywall absorbing mildew this morning.  Small fellow might have been a figure fornicating in Real but for disinterest he’s become this summer.   Where exits exist and entrances entrance or is that not an E-word to many.  At your back, following, ready to pounce the moment the light recedes and you let go sight of your other Jekyll, Heckler.  Four them or against them, they still box in, box out, box spontaneous combustions of uncensored daydream.  Into the first, conformity.  Into the second, infirmity. Into the third?  Shit, with that sequence, shouldn’t you start all over again?  Naive, the notion that he would engrave R.G.’s entire Series and Scrawls on all the white squares of the bath tile walls, read them daily, even clone the concept throughout the home’s interior, live in veritable wonderland of letters, take encyclopedia of mind and locate her outside, in person, as it were, out of reach, naw, nor out of sight, just out there, not in here, anymore, and recompressed.  The notion that it would look tacky, every nook and cranny crammed with enjambment and industrial license.  The notion that it’d get back in, even memorized, but no way corralled, and daily say Hello, there, routinely greet her at every foyer and bend.  Being in Bookend Land.  Turn the Kona or the koan, turn the corner, turn the page, which page, there are none marked, and no territories, just endless Frontier Telephone called and concluding all preceding.  Was thinking, say, 9 high and 18 by 30 stacked 4 in a column, requiring two below ground, providing the city would permit it, and then really quite spectacular space, what twenty-one sixty square feet created on a tiny 600 square foot lot of nothing better to do with daytime here, plot landscapes, architectures, Living Spaces in my mind, somewhere far removed, half underground, half above the fray of contemporary real estate expectations.


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