The Swelling Laboratory

I’m experimenting with . . .

Invisibility
I’m writing myselves out of existence.

Catatonia
I’m playing dead to trick my haunted body’s ghosts into coming out.

Pornography
I’m studying carnal conjugations that disturb the flesh beyond reason.

Desire
At the heart of each craving there beats a pulsing pain.

Mixtures
I’m mixing a bit of me with a bit of you to make a strange brew.

You
I’m trying out your hands, your eyes, your sex; I’m borrowing your mouth to see how it tastes.

Telephones
Electric silences knotting distant tongues.

Masks
Different faces letting different voices sound through.

Fire
I’m burning away my second skin to bare the raging flesh beneath.

Emetics
I’m throwing up my mother and my father.

Hunger
I envy the ascetic’s beautiful hallucinations.

Poisons
I know many of my selves are poisonous to me, but which ones?

Catastrophes
For the love of accident.

Reversals
I’m shuttling faster and faster between opposites, till they become contiguous in me.

Doubling
With two of me, I’ll be able to see my habits as if they were the customs of another country. (Why stop with two?)

Autobiographies
A Portrait of the Artist as His Mother, Autobiography of a Virus, A Day in the Lives of an Illegal Alien, . . .

Perhaps, Maybe
Perhaps the only thing that’s real is maybe.

Parturition
To give birth to other worlds.

Clouds
I’m dispersing myself into a polymorphous mist.

I’m experimenting . . .




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