an antifesto

Not attempted this in awhile, and my awareness of the internet's illimitable expansion and mixture of timespace leaves me at the mercy of unforeseen consequences. Writing is the distance between repulsion and compulsion, a cry from the throat and pared calculation of affect. The tension for the writer is the balancing act of freedom and constraint. Spirits wane, forms appear, power drains and regenerates.

So, perhaps this blog is an exercise in drains and regeneration. Studies in dissociation, you might call them. Whether poem, prose, photograph, aphorism, all trails between the real and unreal--now a shifting architecture for all to see.

This is an antifesto. Not a series of thoughts or artifacts, but the acute collision between object, sense, word, and the continuum of action between them.

If a voice, then a company of shifting presences and absences.

If a presence, then an unwilling misrepresentation. Who's there?

If an absence, then a vision of presence. Who's not there?

And who should be?