Scratches

scratches

two projections side by side in a blank room.  one a negative image the other positive.  the video on both sides rushes to the center, like water over a cliff, meeting in the absent space behind the wall.  the video is of a place where the camera is moving.  the location escapes the viewing eye watching the screen,  going forward.  what comes next? desiring to let go of what you have already been, you are a watcher of a watcher, this makes you feel sick, both the moving image and the stalking of a stranger, why do you care to follow them at all, is it worth it, are they going to give you something in the end?  you seem to be running into yourself at the center of the wall.  maybe you are just one of the videos and the other is a lover.  who would the other person be meeting you on the middle ground?  a pretty trick?  mimic.  mechanic.  echo. you’re not fooled.  it is the screen you are watching, but you have already seen this one, and you will again, it does not change, only you do. 

in high school when i was reading the well toured suspense novel by the name of ‘crime and punishment’ i was told that i should revisit it again when i was older.  my teacher told me it would be completely different, my friend who went to stanford agreed with him, i didn’t believe that she really could know more than i did.  groundhogs day, similar, but with shorter notice, boom, it’s on hbo, recognize it, and revisit your approach.  the re-watcher is always a narcissist, isn’t s/he.  oh-pawned x-peeriences, what have i done to you, lets take a look at what i mean?  watching something that i have already created keeps me refreshed, okay, i am talking about film and i am talking about memories, i am talking about taking time to notice my feelings and cleaning myself up a bit.  maybe i have ocd, maybe i am more confused then most people by how things happen the way they do and why.  there is so much we don’t know.  but i care.  i really care.  i am obsessive.  i worry that while i’m reviewing my experiences, i am figuring them out but replacing them with my own logic, sifting out what had originally been and grabbing hold of what may have actually happened.  the memory, the mystery.  i have changed.  i feel more structured now.  i am never trying to lie, i don’t think that we can help but lie anyway, otherwise we would not be constructed to think at all.  trust clarity.  enraptured by the silence of seeing me again, in the mute is always where the one observing rests his/her head on a perch.