Towards The Discrete

Onto the Ground

There is a man. A workman, the snow is coming down, this is all in suburbia in the 1990's, anywhere North America. This man's legs are splayed each side a hole in the ground. Out the hole a bundle of couloured wires the size of the man's waist sticks out like some sort of berserk technological flower. The workman seems as intent and confused as a child with a problem with his lego blocks. The wires, all of diverse colours are severed, one would surmise from their copulars. At the end of each wire information pours onto the workman's clothes, onto the ground on which he sits, mingles with the melting snow, slips into the gutter, travels the route of everything else in this world that is discarded...

Hope, conflated desire, utopia...lived through disjunctives and always the grand and relentless passage of the every day- used plastic sandwich bags, truck tires, scratched country music albums, the Popes last visit memorial plates, blown tube television sets, and there empty raviolli tins.

Another videomutant sunset.