_Then On You One_

Human damaged confidence with a dissecting glance.
(Elitist, quixotic, derranged.) (Posthumanindustrial)?

Guise retorted with a factorial stare ( a morass of black and white lines)

What you looking at? How do you choose to look at me? I'll cut your face to ribbons.

Human formats the figure onto the page. It is such a excoriating, humane cut. Practical, unremitting, remorseless. Culled from a lurching galleon not far from here infact - remodelled for personal propaganda.

Confidence has information implicit in his clothing. Reading me write. Listening to me speak. A voice identifiable as mine. Observer, lover, voyeur. My half-known experience of you.

It never existed before. It just happened one day. I didn't think it up. It happened to me.

Your clothes have no past. No sexual identity, no complexities. I can see you (over there) in negative space - on the far side of the mirror - you are a writer who does not write. You circulate music on cassettes. You hear our voices not phrase by phrase, but by taping our voices simultaneously. Then you play-back.

Listen to his clothes! - in ( amorphous entirety.)


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