It starts to snow

You smell turmeric 

The space breathes 

You breathe the space 

The space breathes into you 

The floor below your buttcheecks becomes a patch of plastic grass 

The thought you are having right now slides into your back pocket and settles there 

From your other back pocket, you grab a karabiner 

A brown, soft but sturdy ropes crawls to you 

A loop presents itself on your lap

You open 

You click

You attach 

You release

You believe

You pull 

You surrender

You pull 

You click 

You close

The walls incline, sigh a little

Your breath stutters 

You contract 

A tight space

Filled with broad spaces 

Broad places for swimming and drifting, for flying and floating

Is it hot in here? 

Are you ready? 

Ready for what? 

In your right ear, you hear a future, struggling to be born, french-kissing a past that might have never happened

In your left, you hear a thick liquid beginning to drip 

This is us now 

Forever starts to sing a song that goes a bit like this (humming) 

All things hold hands and start to dance a slow polka 

Somewhere within this space, your object of desire is hiding 

You might be someone else’s object of desire

How does that feel? 

You wrap a dark cloth around your bare feet 

You see someone move 

From your ear a strong invisible thread grows into the ear of the person next to you

It continues 

A web 

You’ll have to carry it now 

Unless you cut it

In your front pocket there are scissors, use them when necessary 

In the right corner there is a blue light

There, you’ll see a pile of papers

Each paper contains an event

If at any time, you would want to make the event appear in this space, go over to the pile and read the text on one page


Leuven, June 2021