pretty elaborately simple things... A dress a wearable pocket a river an island a plowed expansive field There is a beginning and there is an ending and they are both here for all of us to see, or so we think, for now Almost everywhere What appears to be beginning and the ending and the in-between are now stripped of the context of parallel conversations television shows imagined next steps the joy of knowing where things are moving in the right direction... And yet there is much more... What could have been travels into ecstatic landscapes of very private self love are now recorded to be flat probably soft blankets little storage devices for mind masturbation They are now ready to be wrapped around the bodies of those who will complete the phantasy. A dress will be protected at first and wrapped and carried and brought to a private place where it will be looked at touched exposed to sounds touched again moved touched again seen incredibly clearly then wrapped and protected again perhaps for later? It will find itself on the table in front of someone who will finally bring the work to a climax following its and their own winding ways. and... She will not even know it but she will be there the mother right there visible and imagined parts of her will flicker before the heavy breather's inner eye. The wearable pocket will some day be looked at in a laboratory the back of it will carry the markings of many of those who will have added themselves in a series of private rituals which will have allowed them to imagine themselves as the finalizing partners in a stored act of the self loving mother Elaborate strands of information will be soaked into elaborate strands of information finally united over and over and over again Over generations perhaps until some of the molecules completely forget until the pocket finds itself in a laboratory where its back will be discovered where information will not be shared where preparations will be made to put it into a glas casket. From then on, groups of children, will be shown, to it, inspired, to make their own, little innocent creations. The island the river the plowed expansive field will perhaps leave markings on the backs of placeholder bodies perhaps more innocent and naive than the the one of the landscape creator One more ecstatic moment in the chain of moments for someone who creates by arranging rare creations And the mother of it all will perhaps never know or understand She will probably never realize that she is brought into rooms with those who love her work so they can refresh their fragile slowly failing memories so they can store new images to flicker before their eyes when they go home to have a little more of her in private... and there will be recordings of most of the activities... and some will be very public...