Happy Valentine’s Day. I’m so glad we decided to spend it like this. I hope
you’re happy with it.
I just wanted to let you know that when you asked if it seemed as wrong as
possible if you had sex with me it was actually perfectly normal, even if you
are cold to the touch, and floating in geosynchronous orbit. It wasn’t wrong.
Relax. I know obsolescence makes you so self-conscious, like you have no idea
what you’re doing in orbit. But you won’t drop down, your makers would look at
you funny. Now, tell me that ain’t so crazy. The concept of space seemed just
so secure.
I know you told me you’d never rot up there. I get it. And here are these
proxy humpy things scattered around my room, and they’re like fax machines
transplanting me to you. When they prepared an anti-earth deck and you were
on it maybe they thought only an alien would find you. Would you gesture to
them, wave “hello” with the arms you don’t have, to say “hey, it’s me, you
feel me?” And would the alien, like, understand what you were, after everything
terranean was dead? I’ve been meaning to ask you, you know, if you really like
being grounded this way. I mean, when you kept floating, I made you to scale,
and I know this sounds kind of suspicious but for me they are you, so you’re in
my room, with me. And this is perfectly normal for me even though you are
floating and these are like faxes of you, or something.
We know that it is now possible to successfully transplant a hand and that the
brain can reconstitute its bodily schema to include foreign members. I hold them
close to my chest, in a gesture which sounds like scanning you; that light moving
back and forth in that one noise that sounds kind of like a nasally joke. And I,
like, flick my wrist and you’re suddenly terranean, in multiples, like Shiva
popping into those humpy cows. And this is as real for me as it is for you. Is it
good for you, babe? It’s as good for me as it is for you.
Open by appointment 15 February - 19 February 2014
Private view 14 February 6-9pm.
