Document as documentation.

The event becomes the document
and then again becomes an event.
Reader acting out the instructions
and re-making
the reading machine.

Document, sheet, event, score,
instruction, command,
guide, archive. A continuation,
ephemeral as that may be.


 And so at what point do we stop and breathe?

When you turn the page you get another set of instructions as vague and yet as comforting as the last time, we can all see the difference.
Upon the page of off-white you can find the furniture you need to guide you to your seat, but perhaps that is irrelevant when a portion of the work has been done by someone else. Experiments and notes perform the daily tasks of the reader for the writer before they have even begun; do we now think it all out into reading before the words come out?

The screen slips downwards as you scroll and you loose all sense of a solid and tangible page. Find and print your reflection as all suffering is soon to end and the stars should be leaving an imprint in the soft cartridge paper on the table.

Projecting the words on the wall and controlling your reading can cause frustration. Skimming over the wavering black e-ink like the ephemeral solidity that your eyes endure. They can find their own way through this quagmire, this ultimate reader of yours. Flitting from one thing to another and up again to tab across and check and click another sign. Back across and down to the end before the beginning was even published. But as it all falls into place you might see that the end is nearer the start in terms of what you can see at any one time. Pause and scroll back. Stop. The length of the current research cannot double or turn over, you must forward the ream onto the next section until I can see it coming clearly as the dark ink upon this pale page. 

Then you are finished. Whatever that means. Quantify it and box it up, wrapped and packed and then re-opened. 


ronnie said...

*nods head* ...... nice!

Abigail Thomas said...