Tuesday, April 2, 2013

text || Lawrence Upton


Upright rectangle blurred to a circle, many bright stars, garish colour.

Axle growing through the centre of voids. It's yellow, almost leafless; sky curves underneath the ground, which is transparent. Our soil is largely sand, hemmed in repeatedly by rubble.

Feet of a hanged man swinging a head's height above a broken path.

Doors open automatically; clouds cover the sun; doors close automatically. One rectangle will succeed in covering a rectangle, both blurring.


& amongst indistinct shape, illusion - self-consciousness of appearance; figures building themselves in open clandestinity... what can be seen is skin

what persists will not survive; what survives will not persist; self-destruction makes weigh, anchoring graphical exaggeration

enigmas fill gaps; worship follows; then sentimentality

a new boom sweeps across a narrowed sky

take cover with your ears


unwanted tv images

make up and plastic

paint and lighting


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