She said if the mould is properly prepared the molten words would fill the void to produce a solid object....as she offered him some vicks vapour rub and talked fondly of making sculptures with olbas oil.
In a state of prior existence, a material, a priori, take it, think about it , look at it, begin to act upon it, to communicate or not, to say or to meditate on a thought. The corners begin to fall rapidly away as you shave out what the thought permits. you go on in a frenzied state allowing action to inexplicably follow thought and feeling and action and reaction, muddle through it. The thought is eating itself now, it is devouring its self with every action on the external, every action causes the thought to change, until yet more angles fall away, where was the first angle? What was the original angle, is now gone, it doesn’t matter, is this learning? nevermind, keep going and the thought is there, with the feeling, its power executed on the material, this is no longer a priori, because it is becoming rounded, at both ends, it is real, almost human, for it is being observed, the object stares back, almost screaming. There is no theory for pure form, gleaming, glistening form, like a wotsit or a jelly bean, or a pebble travelled thousands of miles, held by the sea, should be so knowledgeable, so well travelled but has gone too far, too well rounded to easy, rollable, no interest. The thought has gone now, you must start again, you have run out of material, you shaved it all away, its gone that purpley colour, start again.
In a state of prior……
Standing, tied up, on a beach, bound with little leather ties around ankles, hands behind back, again tied with leather, little knots and the smell of the wind. Standing on the edge of land, the edge of sure footed, balanced existence, facing out, except tied, bound, rolling the pebbles between toes, thinking about the leather binds. Intentions were given, not understood, communication breakdown, the realisation that empathy can never be proven. Begin to change shape, binds still intact, turn more corners over shoulders, seems more edges are growing, strange unknown bodily angles. This never met that before. Think about the pebbles again, and Avebury, and conversation, take one pin point position and another different pin point position, the trajectory moving constant, pause is luxury, overview is a myth, its a constant meeting, like two rocks on a slow journey until they meet in small dribbling brook in the Amazon, where they speak, but not with words. No meta system involved, no removal for re-introduction in the next. This is a vibratory language, involving bodies, the bodies have to touch and the rocks vibrate in order to communicate. A large forest, green with dappled sunlight, a snake, perhaps a spider, some insects, the smell of earth and a tinge of death, serenaded over by a babbling spring which has pushed centuries old igneous stone slowly together, one from the lower peninsula and the other from the northern mountains. Rounded hard side, meets rounded hard side, the noise deafening, the concentration of interaction with the earth, revolving, immense. Become smooth solid object, the leather ties relinquish their bind, fall away, more edges, roll over and transform surface from human to stone, now boulder, and communication is lost, devolution, the pebble is all that is left, on the beach and the thinking has gone.