An exploration of circumstantial languages, vol i: desire.

bright red laurie anderson 3:13 we r krisma 3:48 the right to die snowy red 4:34 for one ludwig f love is colder than death 3:26 devotion museum of devotion 5:00 desire to desire in trance 95 4:50 like before cult club 4:22 I reach out without deciding what I want. My hand fumbles through air, neither encumbered by rivaling breeze or hastened along in pity, but with a surety that failed to betray the frantic, slanted nature of my thoughts. It meets solid ground in a dreadful whine like trying to manipulate wet plastic–or perhaps I'm wrong and it's language, all beaten down and inflexible without its constituent parts. When it echoes, it holds in place, generations displaced from a source. As it starts, it's low in my throat, almost a form of communication if you can parse the peaks and valleys of my vocal fluctuations. Instead it sounds muted and all the same, a feeling you've seen one too many times. It's anachronistic keening in an ultramodern suit, both unusual and tired. When the sun sets the first time, you find inimitability in the peach and lilac that act as a screen over certain blue. And when it sets for the third or tenth time, you find comfort wrapped in a variegated mantle, but it's routine, anticipated in the way that leather recalls and hews tightly to its owner's skin. You no longer gawk at what was once a privilege bestowed upon you from what seemed an empyreal grip. Its meaning dissipated the more people looked, engaged, hand-manipulated expectations. There's no sadness or disappointment in your awareness. Just a hand shifting around the dark for kindling, fingers smudged with ash as further you rearranged your desire to make it anew.