eurydice underground | luminous work

i make things from words

i make things from words.  things that intend towards light.  here is that round box from the attic.  inside, letters, photographs, unlabeled cassette tapes.  some embossed invitations to my imaginative parties, which are select and increasingly irregular.  like you, i grow old.  i keep my hands busy and my mind occupied.  if it would be better to hold something in your hands other than a machine send me a message and i will send you something real.

inhabit the decrepit illustrious body / songs sung into microphones, played by machines / oh oh the underground  / garden like a jewel box:  black hellebore, tradescantia, bloodroot, salvia / let's be birds of the way-out-there / super-luminous flight / let's

let us speak no more of love