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Mostly first draft poetry. Older poems that have been edited will also be posted and should have the dates written included on them. Comments welcome.
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
Project: Being In a Box
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[Here is a description of the project:
I would like for people to describe a small location--such as a one square meter area. This can be the place where you are right now or when you make the recording, or it can be a place that is special for you, or it can be an imaginary one square meter. You decide.
Please record yourself either on MD, tape or CD describing the One Square Meter location. You can say what and where the place is, but please focus on describing the way that particular One Square Meter looks or feels or smells or sounds or tastes. Your description is up to you. What is in the place. What colors and things are in it, etc. Why it is important, etc. These are all things you can consider.]
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This one square meter isn't actually square or a meter, but it is certainly singular. Its size and shape are really not that important or what makes it special. But for the sake of this discussion this "special place" is one square meter. In fact, perhaps due to the waning August full moon, it is one cubic meter.
This special space changes from time to time.
Sometimes it is a transparent guileless box. And porous too. A slight breeze of baby's breath can be felt at these moments. It can be entered without effort and even though there is no particular temperature, it is comfortable. It moves without effort innocently in its environment observing and being.
Other times it is more or less opaque, sticky (mochi-like), and with colour. Despite its soft features it is a bit coarse and predictable. It could be sweet, sour, acidic or bitter depending on who is biting and why. Sounds can be heard coming from no particular point of focus - rumblings and ruminations in baritone, but no meaning can be discerned. Its movement can be described in terms of attraction and repulsion, tentative and suspicious.
Today it is solid black and impenetrably dense with a matte finish. Though it invites the inquisitive to investigate it reveals nothing. There is no sound, except for the unending clack, clack, clack adagio of a pin ball gamely bouncing in perpetual eagerness, waiting for an opening into the mother of mystery. There is no taste, except for the tasteless gray of the urbane that always seems to settle on anything black with a matte finish. To the touch there is neither heat nor coldness. However a faint frigidity exists hinting at a fire that may have burned in some colourful past. Its movement is relative to the observer and perspective. At this point it seems immovable, though yesterday it was caught up in a swirl of uneasiness winding up some empty boulevard of an unknown city. But within that swirl it had no momentum of its own.
*
[Here is a description of the project:
I would like for people to describe a small location--such as a one square meter area. This can be the place where you are right now or when you make the recording, or it can be a place that is special for you, or it can be an imaginary one square meter. You decide.
Please record yourself either on MD, tape or CD describing the One Square Meter location. You can say what and where the place is, but please focus on describing the way that particular One Square Meter looks or feels or smells or sounds or tastes. Your description is up to you. What is in the place. What colors and things are in it, etc. Why it is important, etc. These are all things you can consider.]
*
*
This one square meter isn't actually square or a meter, but it is certainly singular. Its size and shape are really not that important or what makes it special. But for the sake of this discussion this "special place" is one square meter. In fact, perhaps due to the waning August full moon, it is one cubic meter.
This special space changes from time to time.
Sometimes it is a transparent guileless box. And porous too. A slight breeze of baby's breath can be felt at these moments. It can be entered without effort and even though there is no particular temperature, it is comfortable. It moves without effort innocently in its environment observing and being.
Other times it is more or less opaque, sticky (mochi-like), and with colour. Despite its soft features it is a bit coarse and predictable. It could be sweet, sour, acidic or bitter depending on who is biting and why. Sounds can be heard coming from no particular point of focus - rumblings and ruminations in baritone, but no meaning can be discerned. Its movement can be described in terms of attraction and repulsion, tentative and suspicious.
Today it is solid black and impenetrably dense with a matte finish. Though it invites the inquisitive to investigate it reveals nothing. There is no sound, except for the unending clack, clack, clack adagio of a pin ball gamely bouncing in perpetual eagerness, waiting for an opening into the mother of mystery. There is no taste, except for the tasteless gray of the urbane that always seems to settle on anything black with a matte finish. To the touch there is neither heat nor coldness. However a faint frigidity exists hinting at a fire that may have burned in some colourful past. Its movement is relative to the observer and perspective. At this point it seems immovable, though yesterday it was caught up in a swirl of uneasiness winding up some empty boulevard of an unknown city. But within that swirl it had no momentum of its own.
Posted by: Santari Santari / 6:36 AM 
