A meditation on entering an a-chronological abyss, prophetically practiced. This abyss is not an abyss that goes down -neither a horror movie, we love horror movies- rather one that swirls and twirls and turns itself inside out, making friends with everything it thinks about, an abyss of meteorologies where even the notion of altocumulus is a thought that can be slid under the skin. The shores of a book lets droplets swing by, humidity in-fusing the naked fruits and finger pulps. Adore, adorn someone else’s work. Choose to look at copying as a throw, one that sings you a little closer to the air, a moisture leaving your skin, cloudlessly dissipating injustice for vaguely is wavily in french, bringing us to the shore once again. Mesh of friendships scintillating under skins, a stirring of wonder-ful support. Sporting-joints echoing lecture-raps, rapsodies of foils, folle, foule. assemblies, oscillations, laborating and liberating the texture of the day together ensemble, re-assembling, at the window.
- PUBLIC MEDITATIONS by Samuel Feldhandler & Elizabeth Ward-in-the-Yard & Sabina Holzer & Frida Robles
