An Echoed Exoskeleton
A man reflecting snakes is covered in patterns. This is not another language but two treatments of the same surface. There is very little “place” left inside him afterward. His segments seem to circle an absence. Because they resemble stars, an eruption of memory re-shapes the supple reeds of the animal's skin subsequently replaced by his face. However, there are no longer eyes. In his stomach, these variations become objects used to interrupt the absorption of stones. Elsewhere, the sun effaces a tree.
It is relatively easy to stop saying “I” when the revolving stories of his host reappear. For example, a delirious musician who replays, randomizes or slivers everything he hears has discovered vestiges of human or animal “bones” in the REM movements of babies. In this case, the nest is acoustic in nature. His diary's parts form a corral of previously transparent sights. Unacknowledged iron is used to flatten the surface, to make reference to the materials of the synchronized swords dividing his pages.
These sacrificial words form a feigned body which evades him during sleep. (This is how captivity by flower takes shape.) Here, a song characterizes itself by trying to connect to its fields. As part of the process, his second body develops a prophylactic screen in which the speaking person and his organs are not in consensus. The development of the solar system is no longer a suitable subject because the sedimentary ostrich, at this precise moment, becomes a force of predation to him. Its multiplying tails require a series of ruptures between the “I” as subject and the face he reveals to the current regime.
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