SAY
1 Why do people disastrous-like want to play with each other? Something falls heavily on the floor above the ceiling above my head. The colourless screen rests. The pink pig, sitting on top of the stinging-screen. Stuffed with money, that furry dirty pig. I am within this store, stories full, these alcohol-lined walls. The door is blood, it opens and liquefies. Dust is stuck on these walls, blood falls to the floor. I am in this black electric box, disconnected yet alive, disassociated and unqualified. Not breaking free, breaking down. 2 My brain is extended before me. I sit here and operate in a shirt too tight. The day is too long. There are extensions of me in this room, each with their own extensions. Their brains lay unwired: they wire them. – Brighton, 1995