A POEM FOR THE POROUS
The skin that envelopes us, that wraps itself across the landscape of the body and restrains our pink and mushy interior from spilling out. Elastic, its boundaries are less than comfortable, as we are wrenched from the warm, dark folds of the womb into the hard light of the exterior world, and forced to touch and feel and meet the heat and the cold. The perimeters delineated by our pigment, the frontier to the edges of our existence, dark or light, cells clustering together in colonies much like we (me) do in our WGs. What division between bodies can we make when the choice to divide was never ours?
Springing from a video impression of ›Situation mit Doppelgänger‹ by HAUPTAKTION