what are you up to?
i speak in the first person. she speaks in the third. i project people and places. she imagines.
i cannot escape this world of context. i try to break it up and tell it to reveal itself.
she lives in a world in a world in a world. building out of blocks no bigger than a thought.
and even then all i see is her in this very context.
and she doesn't need to see. she is the world.
i flutter, disturb, rumble. distribute myself throughout and thin; meet the other half way and then that again. there is no such need in a world of one's own making. so long as she can always remember the premise, forget how she got there, doesn't mind how the project started, she can keep it going.
she has a project. i have an existence.
everything is a character, a plot, an example, an exception, perhaps on the rare occasion the status quo.
i am. she is.
i am. she is.
i am. she is.
i attempt to rid the subject from language. for her language is the subject.
and the inverse holds.
and the inverse holds.
even know she sits in the world with her project. i am not in it. never was.