Contiguous Passions

Though the sharp edges and protrusions of other bodies cut and jab me, and their odorous exhalations disturb my dreams, I love to be in the middle of excited bodies excitedly bumping into each other. Now and then something hits me, and suddenly I’m in love. I believe I’m in love with x or y, but I’m mistaken – what I’m enamored with is this passionate confusion of colliding bodies, this seething Brownian romance.

To transmit my body’s pulses, rippling outward then returning, reflected by other eccentric bodies adding their vibrations to mine – this is all I ask from art – a little communication, a few queer intersections.

It’s hard to resist the temptation to just watch, to just listen, to become pure contemplation of the coming and going of things, of the musical engagement and disengagement of bodies in restless motion. The vegetable part of me wants only to observe the enchanting syndromes of pollination – the dance of bees and flowers, the tragicomic theater of desire – but a flickering image of a winged fugitive darts through my mind, and my fascinated eye grows feet to run after a dream.




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