To reduce. I have danced and cornered myself to the limit of “poorness.”
I have danced, bringing the “lines” from outside, and to limit the “line” of traveling, wandering, and exile.
I copulate a breath with another breath, then violently draw multiple breaths. It's stifled.
I stifle myself and I am white silence without dance.
(In my breath, there is always another breath. In my thinking, there is always another thinking, and in my possession, there is always another possession. What is important is that everything is multiple; I am others and somebody is thinking inside of us with the attack of thinking, multiplicity of the body, violence of language. There is joyful news in this.)
The night voice of “out of the night,” cry, and silence. To expose the “nakedness” of voice and breath by being naked.
What is in the bared naked body? There is surely sickness and the degradation of death and love in the polluted naked body.
Creaking and rubbing between damaged bone and muscle.
What is living in the jagged ends of the surface of skin? Plurality, multiplicity of the blood and ocean that were disrupted memories?
Indeterminate form of flowing mercury that is bared from hiding and become hidden from baring.
The form of a pseudonym, something whose name was stolen.
When will you jump? When will you run?
When does the crack come as an electric shock, as if to caress my crevice?
To accuse latent power to the outside and force it to be seen, I have to endure with my offensive thinking.
I must wait patiently until somebody comes silently, and touch, drag out, and expose my limit.
Who drove me (or what is no longer myself) to the cry of birds and animals? And why are watchers needed?
Confusion and loneliness, a split and unknown power inside me, are bared and bewildered, lose control, then become terrified, nervous, convulsed, and then they grab and take to the accidental place where there is an outbreak of power in the fight between defense and attack.
Watchers also arrive. I feel their breath on my back, I have intercourse with my closed gaze, and I have another breath copulate with my others. I am also a watcher.
It is everything “to arrive” at each other at the place of without place, asymmetry, impersonal place. If we leave that, everything will be spoiled.
But I will leave. I will leave continuously. I must leave.
This is important.
Because the "climax of intermingling" is an asymmetry thing.
It exists not in consistency, but in swerving around each other.
That is why I must swerve around everything. What is the power of outside?
It is not that the crack dissolves into a crack, nor is it is that innumerable breathing is becomes a single breath.
A crack makes a new crack towards a crack. The mixing of breathing will give birth to other breathing at the point when a moment's breath vanishes.
We are at the place of struggle where we are pulled towards an incident.
The first repetition will become the repetition of “Oh, this is a first.”
It is no longer dance. It was not amining to have the identity of a dance.
With the cracked body, the dancing body has cracks put into it, and it's opened to the concept of having no identity.
The strengths and the repetition of those strengths arrives as an event that is an encounter of the unknown, the place without place, the first time, irreproducible and ephermeral, in which there is no meaning, vanishes with the pointing out of the pinnacle of experience and exchange.