FEBRUARY 2025
DO YOU HAVE A MORTGAGE? A JOB WHERE MANY PEOPLE REPORT TO YOU? A BROKEN WASHING MACHINE IN YOUR HOME THAT NEEDS TO BE FIXED? I’M TWICE YOUR AGE. I’M OLD ENOUGH TO BE YOUR MOTHER. YOU ARE TOO YOUNG TO BE TIRED, THEY SAY.
I AM YOUNG, THEY SAY. AND I AM TIRED. I AM TIRED, AND I AM FRUSTRATED: WITH THE WORLD, WITH MY SELF WHO CANNOT SEEM TO HANDLE EACH MOMENT THE WORLD IS PRESENTING, EACH MOMENT THAT IS A PERVERTED CONTINUATION OF THE PAST AS IT TRIES TO REACH THE FUTURE THROUGH MORSE CODE. I AM NOT YOUNG. I AM THE SPACES BETWEEN THE DOTS AND THE DASHES THAT ONLY EXIST IF YOU ARE DISILLUSIONED BY WHAT THE DOTS AND DASHES GIVE YOU, AND THERE IS NO WHERE LEFT TO GO BUT THE SPACES IN BETWEEN; NO, WHERE.
THE SPACES IN BETWEEN ARE AS MUCH SPACE AS SPACE ITSELF. BUT UNLIKE SPACE ITSELF THE SPACES IN BETWEEN DO NOT PRESENT THEMSELVES TO YOU; ONE MUST SEEK THESE SPACES OUT. AND HOW EMPTY AND DRY ONE MUST BE TO SEEK OUT MORE THAN WHAT EXISTS, MORE THAN WHAT IS GIVEN TO THEM. THE SPACES IN BETWEEN DO NOT EXIST, THEY ARE CREATED WHEN ONE IS DESTROYED BY WHAT EXISTS, WHEN ONE KNOWS THERE IS NOTHING ELSE THAT EXISTS THAT IS WORTH SEARCHING FOR. ONE MUST CREATE WHAT ONE IS SEARCHING FOR.
YOU ARE WAITING TO STUMBLE UPON WHAT YOU’VE CREATED, BECAUSE IT HASN’T BEEN CREATION BUT DESPERATION. YOU HAVE DESPERATELY CREATED A PLACE TO EXIST: TO BE, IN DELIRIUM, WITHOUT THOUGHT AND WITHIN DESPERATION -- A SPACE IN BETWEEN. YOU ARE IN BETWEEN. NEITHER THIS NOR THAT, NO WHERE AND EVERY WHERE, DELUSION AND REALITY, NEED AND WANT, PAST AND FUTURE, SILENCE AND NOISE.
YOU ARE AT THE KITCHEN TABLE. YOU ARE WRITING THIS IN A MOMENT OF IN BETWEEN. YOU ARE IN THE IN BETWEEN, AND YOU ARE WRITING WITH THE DESPERATION OF ANTICIPATION, OF KNOWING YOU COULD BE EJECTED AT ANY MOMENT. AND YOU WRITE, NOW, IN FEAR OF THE UPCOMING AND PENDING (LOOMING) EJECTION, BECAUSE YOU KNOW AS SOON AS YOU ARE EJECTED YOU WILL LOSE THE FEELINGS, THE THOUGHTS. YOU WILL GO BACK INTO THE WORLD, THE REACTIONARY WORLD WHICH YOU FEEL SO SENSITIVE IN AND YET SO BITTER. AND YOU WONDER HOW ONE CAN FEEL SO WEAK AND SO FULL OF EVERYTHING AT THE SAME TIME-- ALL OF THE THINGS THAT MAKE YOU SO WEAK.
AND YOU ARE SCARED. YOU ARE SCARED TO BE INTERRUPTED BECAUSE YOU KNOW YOU WILL BE RETURNED TO THE THINGS THAT WILL CREEP INSIDE OF YOU, EACH ONE INTO THEIR RESPECTIVE CREVICES, ALL AT ONCE UNTIL YOU ARE FILLED ONCE AGAIN, FILLED WITH THINGS THAT TAKE UP ENOUGH SPACE, TOO MUCH SPACE THAT THEY PUSH YOU OUTSIDE OF YOUR SELF. AND NOW YOU ARE LEFT WITH A BODY FULL OF THINGS, WEAK THINGS, FOREIGN THINGS, AND THAT BODY IS HOLDING YOU WITH AN ARM OUTSTRECHED, AT AN ARM LENGTH’S DISTANCE, BECAUSE IT WANTS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU. IT WANTS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU THAT IS SO FRAGILE, YOU THAT IS SO EASILY DISPLACED BY EVERY THING; EVERY THING THAT CREATED IT AND MAKES IT WHAT IT IS AND WANTS IT TO BE.
THE BODY CAN ONLY SEE SPACES. AND IN THE HAND OF THIS BODY, YOU ARE NOTHING BUT THE SPACES IN BETWEEN.
I AM YOUNG, THEY SAY. AND I AM TIRED. I AM TIRED, AND I AM FRUSTRATED: WITH THE WORLD, WITH MY SELF WHO CANNOT SEEM TO HANDLE EACH MOMENT THE WORLD IS PRESENTING, EACH MOMENT THAT IS A PERVERTED CONTINUATION OF THE PAST AS IT TRIES TO REACH THE FUTURE THROUGH MORSE CODE. I AM NOT YOUNG. I AM THE SPACES BETWEEN THE DOTS AND THE DASHES THAT ONLY EXIST IF YOU ARE DISILLUSIONED BY WHAT THE DOTS AND DASHES GIVE YOU, AND THERE IS NO WHERE LEFT TO GO BUT THE SPACES IN BETWEEN; NO, WHERE.
THE SPACES IN BETWEEN ARE AS MUCH SPACE AS SPACE ITSELF. BUT UNLIKE SPACE ITSELF THE SPACES IN BETWEEN DO NOT PRESENT THEMSELVES TO YOU; ONE MUST SEEK THESE SPACES OUT. AND HOW EMPTY AND DRY ONE MUST BE TO SEEK OUT MORE THAN WHAT EXISTS, MORE THAN WHAT IS GIVEN TO THEM. THE SPACES IN BETWEEN DO NOT EXIST, THEY ARE CREATED WHEN ONE IS DESTROYED BY WHAT EXISTS, WHEN ONE KNOWS THERE IS NOTHING ELSE THAT EXISTS THAT IS WORTH SEARCHING FOR. ONE MUST CREATE WHAT ONE IS SEARCHING FOR.
YOU ARE WAITING TO STUMBLE UPON WHAT YOU’VE CREATED, BECAUSE IT HASN’T BEEN CREATION BUT DESPERATION. YOU HAVE DESPERATELY CREATED A PLACE TO EXIST: TO BE, IN DELIRIUM, WITHOUT THOUGHT AND WITHIN DESPERATION -- A SPACE IN BETWEEN. YOU ARE IN BETWEEN. NEITHER THIS NOR THAT, NO WHERE AND EVERY WHERE, DELUSION AND REALITY, NEED AND WANT, PAST AND FUTURE, SILENCE AND NOISE.
YOU ARE AT THE KITCHEN TABLE. YOU ARE WRITING THIS IN A MOMENT OF IN BETWEEN. YOU ARE IN THE IN BETWEEN, AND YOU ARE WRITING WITH THE DESPERATION OF ANTICIPATION, OF KNOWING YOU COULD BE EJECTED AT ANY MOMENT. AND YOU WRITE, NOW, IN FEAR OF THE UPCOMING AND PENDING (LOOMING) EJECTION, BECAUSE YOU KNOW AS SOON AS YOU ARE EJECTED YOU WILL LOSE THE FEELINGS, THE THOUGHTS. YOU WILL GO BACK INTO THE WORLD, THE REACTIONARY WORLD WHICH YOU FEEL SO SENSITIVE IN AND YET SO BITTER. AND YOU WONDER HOW ONE CAN FEEL SO WEAK AND SO FULL OF EVERYTHING AT THE SAME TIME-- ALL OF THE THINGS THAT MAKE YOU SO WEAK.
AND YOU ARE SCARED. YOU ARE SCARED TO BE INTERRUPTED BECAUSE YOU KNOW YOU WILL BE RETURNED TO THE THINGS THAT WILL CREEP INSIDE OF YOU, EACH ONE INTO THEIR RESPECTIVE CREVICES, ALL AT ONCE UNTIL YOU ARE FILLED ONCE AGAIN, FILLED WITH THINGS THAT TAKE UP ENOUGH SPACE, TOO MUCH SPACE THAT THEY PUSH YOU OUTSIDE OF YOUR SELF. AND NOW YOU ARE LEFT WITH A BODY FULL OF THINGS, WEAK THINGS, FOREIGN THINGS, AND THAT BODY IS HOLDING YOU WITH AN ARM OUTSTRECHED, AT AN ARM LENGTH’S DISTANCE, BECAUSE IT WANTS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU. IT WANTS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU THAT IS SO FRAGILE, YOU THAT IS SO EASILY DISPLACED BY EVERY THING; EVERY THING THAT CREATED IT AND MAKES IT WHAT IT IS AND WANTS IT TO BE.
THE BODY CAN ONLY SEE SPACES. AND IN THE HAND OF THIS BODY, YOU ARE NOTHING BUT THE SPACES IN BETWEEN.
︎
