a cassette is placed into a VHS player
play: winter had arrived and brought with it all its discontents
fast-forward: Richard Stark holds his head high, and winter had passed. but the snow had yet to melt.
back: a San Miguel. A Chilean brunch. Chatter of things that i had never mustered
back: i am on the bus bringing you your books
forward: you giggle at a stroke joke in a silent room.
forward a little more : atop the Tate Modern, we warm ourselves, coffees in hand. my heart beckons me to leap into the Thames.
back: a first snow, cityscapes petty fogged in black and white, freedom as a man, a revisited lost dog in Tokyo, love found in a factory alongside Klein and Moriyama
ff a little more: this is where it goes down, my dear. here or nowhere. regret tossed into the fog.
ff x 20 : a symphony and the splashing of lights at my first retrospective in the factory where my heart was dumped all those lifetimes ago. Readymades, handcrafted sculptures, and large scale video installations fill the corridors where a man made sun once swept through.
ff x 50: the last refuge. a Dali is burned for warmth. the bombs are headed our way. the color in our hair is faded into an eternal. bridges may be falling. “they’ll never find us here”, you say. this is where it happens. where it began is where it should end. the locust descend on the factory. but they’ll never make it in. we’ll preserve ourselves in cyanide with the sharks until new british youth find us.
back: you’re quiet. the outcome is not unexpected.
back: i forget your name almost instantly. but not the long walk in the snow-rain.
forward and forward again: Ted Mosby’s narrative is distinctly not my own. A pair of pants that are just too tight to put on.
ff: those wandering days alone in named cities trying to expel you from within me.
ff: promises made of a lifetime of connection that will be broken as the Atlantic surfaces.
back: red lights and labyrinths and another leap into another river. this won’t work either.
forward: I’ve been drinking too much. there is no way to hide it anymore.
freeze: we press the fast forward button together to schemes untold to others, to things that will better outline who we are meant to be.
ff x 10: in a dream we confront one of my nightmares on a set you’ve designed. I am sitting back smiling. we won’t get the take that day but its ok. there’s a banquet waiting for us at home.
back: on the hill the red ants sprawl across my tears. “i miss her, i miss her” i hear myself say.
back: through dustiness, you’re still there. “someday you’ll see i’m just a girl.”
ff: that day hasn’t come yet.
back: rainbows in Barcelona emerge from your hair
freeze: cathedrals and hot chocolate from a play you’ve designed.
forward: the ants carry cement around my feet, sticking me into the hilltop
back: in a box of gold you celebrate. but he never showed.
back: Duchamp squeezes Paris into a bottle
forward a little more: I unearth that vial from the hilltop. don’t ask me how its not important my dear. Paris is yours. Duchamp too. And me as well.
ff: you just won’t shut up about it as a rolling press corps berates you. awkward answers are given. i may have invaded the rest of Europe but one conquest eluded me. and isn’t it always the ones that didn’t happen, the ones that count?
back: i navigate the mazes of SOHO trying to shake you but your never far behind me.
ff: I want to set a livestream to tune you into my now. you’d love it all here. you’d want to call it home. we wouldn’t be so sad, so apart. but you are here already. You’re the the NSA, Big Brother. And Snowden didn’t even need to tell me.
slow: cobblestone cathedrals and pink rainbows encroaching you.
ff: The National is having a concert in my living room. They stop midset and tell me “do it.”
half drunk, half knowingly assured I do.
ff: the cables are cut. there is no way to repair them without you knowing.
slow: amidst a parade of wine its just us. just us, Jennifer Lawrence on the steps, you facing me…
pink smoke emits from the VCR machine. Alone, I choke on it until it is red.
The VCR is broken. It won’t rewind anymore. Only go forward.