March 8th 2018 13:13
Today he stamped his fingerprints. I suggested plain black ink. (not red) After all it doesn’t matter when you finish; it’s how.
I hoped needed imagined I’d be there to smell each room. I wanted to inspect the things you observed. I wanted to confirm we shared something similar aside from genetic history.
My first memory of you:
“What did you say to me on the boat during the summer of 1988?”
A steady, soft, but stern gaze deserves attention. So does the timber of a voice I heard in a song early in the morning. Now I know this language is by my side in case I should ever need it.
“If you have something to say, say it in a way that arrests the audience. “
No matter how long it takes, someday someone will reply…even if I am no longer here. This is why I keep writing.
Our roots are behind us. Past
What is the word in your language for the moment when a raindrop merges with a larger body of water?
December Eighth Two-Thousand and Eighteen
In the Morning
I decide not to frame time by participating in the following rituals: starting my day thinking about performing actions that make money, thinking of time starting after the birth of Christ, thinking of power as vertical, and writing the date numerically
Our Roots Are Behind Us. Past.
What is the word to describe the moment a raindrop merges with a larger body of water? Future.
(This performance took place on December 8th & 9th at Villa Romana, Florence during a workshop, Through Rituals: Make it Happen, led by Stefan Pente and William Wheeler.)
How The Body Expresses Time Has Always Been (a ritual) is documentation from my autoethnographic research practice.