I open unopened bills from the past. Unopened bills bring back memories. It’s something about the utilities. One remembers who was using high voltage, low voltage, what appliances and so on. One remembers the moment during which one had the water running, the toilet flushing, the river running, the shower going, the wood burning and the lights on, the lights off and one remembers.
One remembers who was what in one’s life and in ones life and one remembers those moments of love and affection, those moments of sex and no affection, those terrible moments when one is splitting up and saying goodbye, farewell to the one you loved, the one who spent so much time being by your side during great moments and those extraordinarily difficult ones.
I just open the mail in the same way that the surgeons opened me up. Each letter or bill brings a cramp or a goddamn pain with it, just like an operation.
After an operation, the entire world seems like an open wound and an open metaphor. Maybe we are meant to see it that way. All based on the principle of the single cell. Oh, fuck that. Who cares about the single cell ?
I see this extraordinary display of sexuality in women and men when taking a selfie or posting something on Instagram or Facebook. Their apparent soliloquy is a sexual invitation to the invisible, the indivisible, the unknown eye out there, somewhere. It’s the dance around Eros in this new age of Pyrrhus or Pyrrhus mirrors exhaling and inhaling this display of Eunuch(ism).
And, after an operation, the entire world seems like an open wound and an open metaphor.
© Gerald Thomas