Sunday, May 8, 2011


Imaginary Trails. 2009


Something about going reminds me that I’m about to do something again. It’s never the same thing but my mind only fills in the blanks to make it appear so. It makes no difference what or how it goes only that it will go because I choose to. People like to complicate things by making their comings and goings so much more difficult than they are.

It isn’t complicated.
You go or you stay.



Today I’m going.  
I’m going because they said there will be blood.
It’s art, it's a gallery, but there will be blood.
The blood will be there and they will call it art.
I’m not exactly sure about whose blood only that it will be there.
And somewhere inside my mind I know that I want to see the blood.

You can pretend you don’t want to see the blood, but you do.
You watch the tube and wish for more blood. You do.
They shoot each other and you want more. 
Operations and more.
Explosions. More.
Can’t get enough of it.
Enough what?

Because there will be blood I’m also told there might be fainting.
I won’t be fainting. I want to the see the blood.

There’s a woman that sits next to me on the same date every two months apart who donates blood and she always faints after. She says it’s the color of the stuff. I think about the last time the woman fainted before I think about the color of blood and realize that it’s blue before it’s out and it’s only red until it dries.

While I wonder about the color of blood I also wonder about the kind of people who are there looking like I’m looking at the blood. I have no expectations, but I wonder what will they think of when they’re looking?

Will they be hungry?
Will they be satisfied?
Will it be like the tube and wishing for more?
What will they want when there’s not enough blood?

And then I think about me…

Will I have...


Expectations or not…

Maybe it won’t be enough?
Maybe I’ll wish for more?
Or will I faint like the woman with the color of her blood?

All of that aside. There will be blood. And that’s why I’m going.


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