This piece consists of a script with corresponding visuals. Both the sound and the video are installed in a room on separate loops, constantly creating a unique lineup of word and image. The audience is invited to sit at a desk and interact with objects that corresponded to the content of the installation


Dear Bob, Allen, Jack, William, Jackson, Mark, Hunter, Pete, Woody, Cy, and many others whose souls have gone before me and are with us now.

I write to you as the apostle Paul wrote to the churches in Corinth and Ephesus. I write to you as Friedrich and Ludwig and Martin and many others have long ago. I am trembling as I write to you.

I am now making myself into a legend. I am fashioning for myself a great destiny that far surpasses my own self. I am no greater than any other but my soul enters the Great Collection of souls who have gone before.

I don’t know what to write or what to make, I don’t know how to act or what to say, only that I feel you and we are the same.

Please forgive me for my hesitance.

When the rain is falling in sheets and it stings your face like ice in freezing north with breath on your lips you would…And the smoke snarls out your mouth corners and drifts blindly on, blindly on, when the all wise glow of everywhere blinds your bleeding eyes and you squint squint squint to be received. When you walk alone on empty streets and cars pass by and night is howling silent and your own voice is screaming in your ears and your voices are screaming in my ears, Be With Me Now. I summon thee, be with me now.

When you reach across the chasm and make love to someone you don’t love, when you tear at her breasts and her shoulders - cling! - for every grasp of It but it eludes you and her tied up hair and red lipstick warm you and you are alone. Then It calls down like Thunder upon your shoulders but you are too fucked up to respond so you cry with your chump self at the fire with your friend and the arm around your shoulder pats consolingly on the back “go home its only night now. Go home its only night.” And you stop in Las Vegas to share porch drinks with porch people and expectations houndin’ you but the Holy Coked out poet asks in a loving voice made of glass “Have you talked to your dad lately?” So you nod that have and dust yourself off and wander offwards and forwards and lilting scream to your friends and yourself “AH! AH! AH!” It is there I felt it she came! and spoke! and I stirred! My heart grows fondly of the memory of her brutally lonesome brutally pitiable brutally beautiful and Holy Spirit. Run down boulevards and pass the time wishing you were someone but you’re no one. YOU ARE NO ONE! screaming in the mirror. But you are someone and everyone and fucking nothing. Fuck You. But my forefathers had their day and my fathers had their day and now I yearn to grasp, it is my day. I am paralyzed by knowledge I am paralyzed by history I am paralyzed of the whole swarm of swirling mess of All. I can’t escape it but It follows me, you follow me like a goddamn fiend Fuck off! Your voice is not my voice, we share the same voice, we borrow and steal like beggars and vandals and thieves you and me, blood on our hands, you don’t know me. You don’t own me and I owe you nothing. But we owe It everything - the Holy ungraspable palpitations of quantum fluctuations and moonlight liquor. I wish you to love me and leave me in the hurricane turbulence of one who is Alone. Is this making me feel better? Is this making me feel? They say Turn off your brain “out” turn off your brain! But I can’t escape it you haunt me like a wolf in the night.

Get the fuck up you worthless scum! Health is wealth cries the blanketed beggar corpse on benches sad buses gurgle underwater. And I emerge from my drugged sleep in Hong Kong at noon and shuffle past my flatmates “Nothings happened, fine fine fine.”

Let me pull you down you ethereal fire let me pull you down and plunge the knife you beast. Maybe then you’ll leave me alone - I’ve lost all hope my cause is not my own.

Until it agitates agitates agitates its all wrong, fuck this pen. fuck myself and my fucking pen. Thats for you, I love you.

Fuck nostalgia. I build culture with every forceful step I take. I am Colossus, I am God, I am Nothing. Bow before me.