in sand play,  a scene is made from figures  and
objects placed in a box of sand      and sculpted
with water              while the therapist observes     
nearby. . .           healing energies at the deepest
level    of   the   psyche   are   summoned   &/or
activated         via arrangement of personal and
archetypal symbols            in a manifestation of
the client's interior world   interpretations and
discussions about the trays        between client
and therapist     are not initiated until the sand
play process      (a series of trays)        has come
to rest          then, and only then. . .       may the
collaborators     interpret     the    photographs

some   things   do   not   have   the  language to
describe them   some things are not written to
be read, but to be remembered          reading is
everywhere         we have fine-tuned polygraph
sensibilities              (we think, which is why we
deploy confessionals and testimonies            to
blame gleefully)     I would just like to say:

I was in a room and  everything was covered in
sand       there was a blow-up mattress covered
in sand          with a row of dead flowers spread
over it       I understood this to be a type of love
poem            I thought of the wind, the winds of
time, and the desert, everything        covered in
sand       picnic tables     covered in sand      and
the sand settled in layers on the archaeological
dig that constituted a site of reading     the task
of  the  excavation  of  course  was  to  get  well
under the skin           this dig generated a pile, a
skeleton              which shocked me         I didn't
believe  there  was  a  skeleton  under  my  skin
until that skeleton was broken          and I don't
believe that skeletons are dead bodies       they
are just artifacts to me       at the bottom of the
dig was a bubble       covered in sand and shiny
pink pink



in   this  story,  a  woman's  sense  of  direction
keeps flipping             up and down, and so she
spends   all    afternoon   climbing    the   stairs
where    three   generations   of   women    live,
alone                 which constitutes a hauntology

a haunted house is a haunted mind     from the
haunting is flotsam       it is a wreck. . .    drawn
under   again   and   again  by  the  waves,  thus
every   character   is   brought   down  by  their
character          by the desire  to    look good as
themselves for themselves         so much social
anxiety  when something you desire is actually
a cannibal

she lives in a present full of regret             "ever
since I was a little girl. . .           I have lived in a
house     whose     walls     keep    disappearing,
moving backwards and forwards         I'll think,
there's no more walls, no ceilings       no art on
the walls whatsoever     and in this house I live
with my mother          sometimes others would
take her shape, but even then         I was never
certain who it was that I was speaking to        I
know I'm not just nothing  I'm not just born to
die    but I'm    I'm not OUT THERE!"


Siri, Your Honor. . .    (fade to black)     "I'm too
scared,      why?"

Siri says,      "that's what I figured"           . . .no, 
that's what I figured, Siri             it's weird how
comedy can bring deep sadness         hiding in
the cornfields at my own house party   where,
by the way, my head was kept on stage  to  do
my choreographies      that's how hard workin'
I've been, mama        (fade to black)        iPad is  
the new moon



here's No Face:        he's interested in sincerity
and  can  leave  footprints as  he  walks        he
seems to come from nowhere and learns from
example and adaptation        which sometimes
means   he   absorbs   greed    and   corruptive
thoughts,                   and he can be monstrous
depending on which entity he swallows

how do you act?          you can act like yourself
like you were then      like part of yourself then
in unending variation        every way I act feels
unnatural, even when I'm acting naturally       I
can't   act   outside   of   how   I   act   as myself
without feeling like I'm acting      I need an egg
tooth  to  crack,   pip,   or  break  the   eggshell
covering           like a sand pit where people are
burying themselves alive and moving back and
forth, you    (you, Observer)    could see it from
the   way   the   sand  was  breaking on top and

love is a deep pit with multiple ruptures

& everything is a body           and can be buried
alive           heh, heh, heh. . .       texts are  bodies
hate is a body      every body is a thing      every
thing is a hieroglyph   and somebody  from  far
away in time and space will want to polish it up
and say something about it, I promise        your
future 15 minutes of fame. . .      remember that
lots of things can be  used in place  of the body
when you just want to make metaphor         for
example,  slit  a  sandbag  and  sand  pours  out
like blood          it's great therapy          Siri says,
"I'm a body too"          "a chain links my heart to
my throat :)" 

and one last thing!     for my final non-operative
instruction:          I took a wood beam my height
and painted it the color of Lavender Sand         I
cut an incision  about  2/3  of the way down  at
the sacral joint and inserted a vitamin          and
drew a silver line down the middle       which is:
the trance of a girl a-glow            this is a happy