Dear Suspended,

An apparition, is a hallow space made visible, an accident that crosses emptiness with an impossible materiality that codes the missing center in each of us.


(The scene opens with a close-up of skin hemorrhaging between two tight pieces of white rope. The flesh seems to spasm and undulate of it's own accord--full of pleasure at its own disturbance. Faith, a waitress at the Crossroads Diner speaks).

FAITH (voiceover): They say that vision is a blasphemy against the body. But, my eyes murmur about an impossible shape at the edge things-- the amorph. An optic chiasma, an unavowable form, that eats away at meaning and warps its self around me until I can't see anymore. This thing without geometry, without a cock, without a cunt, floats around me like so much smoke and dances--a vanshing bit of matter spinning into infinity. A choatic organism interlinking itself with the contours of a secret I carry without rest. It keeps requesting my nervous system to embed within its mutable convulsions my memories of the burning, of the heat, of my smile when I placed the glowing tip of my cigarette to his eye as he awoke. It wants to mimic the moment of prayer by the prey before the predator. When one is possessed by a space of devouring, when the mouth drives the eyes into obscurtiy, when dissolute laughter brings all that is most base to heaven's Mercy and Grace. This thing is my faith in Hope's extreme doubt, the double of my fatigue, and the labyrinth of my insoluble tenderness. It's unavowable call will take me towards the crossroads of our crime--the secret scacrifice of a miracle that will never end.