THE OTTER PEOPLE Sony PVM-2950QM CRT monitor, 3 m 6 s, text, 2009
The Otter People
A view over the river,
could stand opposite a pillar,
faced,
crushed against it, wet,
and nil by mouth.
One sublime with the other
divided by the only real,
One day the water will swallow it up.
The Saint Paul Cathedral will die.
The peak of his dome
points a path for the dolphins,
A slope back to the origin of the
man.
The water is the domain of the Otter people.
One must always take away the thing and
Dipping into the River next to us.
Sounds create pressure in the room.
A small difference in the radiator
the balance changes to the right or left.
The fan sounds like a storm from home.
Perhaps the reason he shakes an a
remembrance of those young flights.
That image is like gravity for me.
The promise of life is not there yet.
And yet, if it got a name,
the fan in the bathroom would just be there
to blow.
Despite the strict continuum of stairs
into the water, Straight into baptism. into the water, right in baptism.
Refer the curiosity of it
to sleep
with a woman in bed with a girlfriend
and her friend and her friend with lacquered
nails,
toes like sugar
Caught in a constant fire of.
Being clean and cold.
Imagine,
There is a centre of decline
in the depth of the water.
Wrinkling like the most unknown
expression
from someone I've ever known.
It rings above it like candy,
and clearer whiter layer of glaze on the
porpoise
held above the expression of the
city.
Lips, there were also lips.
The river preached the displaced of the
humanity,
So when the tides rise forever,
There is blue glaze on top,
His upper edge, a sturdy hair bunch
with white capitals around.
Or could there be a nice light,
the weak lights behind half opened
doors,
with the colours of that Rainbow Valley
(drawn with) paint given by the English
queen.
That just stands there?
Or slightly on the water,
they were smoothed out, wiped away,
sprayed away to the mighty grip
from knowing that the pieces have an image
to be.
A cutting board to the known present
divide
It did not exist in the now.
Dive into the water, doing tough.
Further away, like that conversation, Further away, like that conversation
Yes. one not suitable for swimming.
Yes.
No. An excuse for not feeling yourself afloat
In a mass of humiliated water.
Breeds on his only life and refers to
himself to prove that.
It reaches back to the last moment
or its freed board or confetti expressions. from h
liberated sign with expressions of
confetti.
Tablets of occurrences that trickle away
in a trance of colliding tiles.
Absorb all events
poison
for the martyr who accosts you.
Deeper in the water there was one down
to pull
as a tooth floss over a lip.
It was like a sharp edge, an industrial one
cut.
But maybe this is right,
this is the moment when an object would
have to cut,
Yes, an edge like I once told someone that
should be.
A sweet green light as a candy
that perhaps did not want to melt.
Candies in wrappers, which do not melt.
An ideal measure for the river.
The new buildings,
the fake snowstorm inside a
Department store,
bewitching, overlooking everything,
The size is comparable to pure
imagination.
A park flies from the end of the world
or that I imagined it.
There was possibility in milk
if those sounds had not come up.
The oracle from very far away:
Does anyone want to build the silence that they need
to have?
A colonnade entrance built of glass
with genres out there that are in the ether
float around.
The abundance of sound injures it
thoughts
while hibernating in the closet, during the winter
sleep in the closet,
locked it from inside locked from the inside
like a circus display - try it
surprising.
How do you know how to use the Urge
to treat?
love failure,
The unruly tapping of the tongue.
About a bridge of possibilities
hoping that a sharp fold of the arm
Me, will save us a landscape.
The toddler treasures as naked walking
within the lines.
The call of cicadas, that slow auction on tone
to the end proportion without echo. to deafening
proportion without echo.
Actually erasing the echo.
No shouting. No answer - I find peace
that I saw
In a field in Canada with an out-performable
rage of a cicada
and the bubbling of phosphates on the St. Laurent.
Like a noise of cola.
A definition of success
driven by the Otter People.
The mystery of a deadlock through inheritance.
The experience country.
The Urge would be a sleepy return.
To be accomplished in a contemporary breath of
hyperactivity
or an existing collectiveness.
What would the Otter people say about touches - through your various roles
I remember
on each other's body then
I tried to get rid of the wasp
my lip had landed.
Sticky to stand full of horror,
Standing on the mat of foam in the sunny
garden.
After that I did not want to go inside.
This is a work on transparency in all
meanings of the word.
I remember a girl who had to rely on me
to fit,
how she got lipstick
And threatened to kiss me if I stayed with her
name calling.
and very good reason to bully girls.
And down in the ravine, he made one there
submarine with a trash can.
It was plastic, and it just did not want to
Underwater.
The water seemed so clean.
It was the bridge to Tarabithia that
Holes made in the idea.
The same place where
I had smuggled cigarettes in one
cassette case.
I dreamed about the heap
In the middle of the ravine.
It was the place in the middle,
The banished middle pocket.
It was also not connected to anything.
There it was, hard but consequent.
The bridge to Tarabithia.
There was once a king and a queen.
They were in the middle of a river,
They crossed with a hanging rope
- She fell.
She would have survived if there were none
little hope.
My brother is my sister.
My brother is Canada.
It is just a matter of nerves.
Not forgotten.
Waiting for a plane toilet.
This challenge,
She could be the Hagazuzah.
Sitting on the fence
Between reality and sleepiness.
Forget that everyone is really the same.
That because of a simple expression
of fear
everything is retained,
And everything is clear.
I connect with the Otter People, brother.
If only two things remained, then
that would be you and the river.
When we breathe, we will
continue to take these life-threads
the moment they stayed behind.
By elimination.
Standing on the bridge is like
merge into the origin,
Finding the focal point.
Be sure it was there.
The imagined is not enough.
This place would
You can thaw to water.
the best break.
Opposite that place.
A view over the river,
could stand opposite a pillar,
faced,
crushed against it, wet,
and nil by mouth.
One sublime with the other
divided by the only real,
One day the water will swallow it up.
The Saint Paul Cathedral will die.
The peak of his dome
points a path for the dolphins,
A slope back to the origin of the
man.
The water is the domain of the Otter people.
One must always take away the thing and
Dipping into the River next to us.
Sounds create pressure in the room.
A small difference in the radiator
the balance changes to the right or left.
The fan sounds like a storm from home.
Perhaps the reason he shakes an a
remembrance of those young flights.
That image is like gravity for me.
The promise of life is not there yet.
And yet, if it got a name,
the fan in the bathroom would just be there
to blow.
Despite the strict continuum of stairs
into the water, Straight into baptism. into the water, right in baptism.
Refer the curiosity of it
to sleep
with a woman in bed with a girlfriend
and her friend and her friend with lacquered
nails,
toes like sugar
Caught in a constant fire of.
Being clean and cold.
Imagine,
There is a centre of decline
in the depth of the water.
Wrinkling like the most unknown
expression
from someone I've ever known.
It rings above it like candy,
and clearer whiter layer of glaze on the
porpoise
held above the expression of the
city.
Lips, there were also lips.
The river preached the displaced of the
humanity,
So when the tides rise forever,
There is blue glaze on top,
His upper edge, a sturdy hair bunch
with white capitals around.
Or could there be a nice light,
the weak lights behind half opened
doors,
with the colours of that Rainbow Valley
(drawn with) paint given by the English
queen.
That just stands there?
Or slightly on the water,
they were smoothed out, wiped away,
sprayed away to the mighty grip
from knowing that the pieces have an image
to be.
A cutting board to the known present
divide
It did not exist in the now.
Dive into the water, doing tough.
Further away, like that conversation, Further away, like that conversation
Yes. one not suitable for swimming.
Yes.
No. An excuse for not feeling yourself afloat
In a mass of humiliated water.
Breeds on his only life and refers to
himself to prove that.
It reaches back to the last moment
or its freed board or confetti expressions. from h
liberated sign with expressions of
confetti.
Tablets of occurrences that trickle away
in a trance of colliding tiles.
Absorb all events
poison
for the martyr who accosts you.
Deeper in the water there was one down
to pull
as a tooth floss over a lip.
It was like a sharp edge, an industrial one
cut.
But maybe this is right,
this is the moment when an object would
have to cut,
Yes, an edge like I once told someone that
should be.
A sweet green light as a candy
that perhaps did not want to melt.
Candies in wrappers, which do not melt.
An ideal measure for the river.
The new buildings,
the fake snowstorm inside a
Department store,
bewitching, overlooking everything,
The size is comparable to pure
imagination.
A park flies from the end of the world
or that I imagined it.
There was possibility in milk
if those sounds had not come up.
The oracle from very far away:
Does anyone want to build the silence that they need
to have?
A colonnade entrance built of glass
with genres out there that are in the ether
float around.
The abundance of sound injures it
thoughts
while hibernating in the closet, during the winter
sleep in the closet,
locked it from inside locked from the inside
like a circus display - try it
surprising.
How do you know how to use the Urge
to treat?
love failure,
The unruly tapping of the tongue.
About a bridge of possibilities
hoping that a sharp fold of the arm
Me, will save us a landscape.
The toddler treasures as naked walking
within the lines.
The call of cicadas, that slow auction on tone
to the end proportion without echo. to deafening
proportion without echo.
Actually erasing the echo.
No shouting. No answer - I find peace
that I saw
In a field in Canada with an out-performable
rage of a cicada
and the bubbling of phosphates on the St. Laurent.
Like a noise of cola.
A definition of success
driven by the Otter People.
The mystery of a deadlock through inheritance.
The experience country.
The Urge would be a sleepy return.
To be accomplished in a contemporary breath of
hyperactivity
or an existing collectiveness.
What would the Otter people say about touches - through your various roles
I remember
on each other's body then
I tried to get rid of the wasp
my lip had landed.
Sticky to stand full of horror,
Standing on the mat of foam in the sunny
garden.
After that I did not want to go inside.
This is a work on transparency in all
meanings of the word.
I remember a girl who had to rely on me
to fit,
how she got lipstick
And threatened to kiss me if I stayed with her
name calling.
and very good reason to bully girls.
And down in the ravine, he made one there
submarine with a trash can.
It was plastic, and it just did not want to
Underwater.
The water seemed so clean.
It was the bridge to Tarabithia that
Holes made in the idea.
The same place where
I had smuggled cigarettes in one
cassette case.
I dreamed about the heap
In the middle of the ravine.
It was the place in the middle,
The banished middle pocket.
It was also not connected to anything.
There it was, hard but consequent.
The bridge to Tarabithia.
There was once a king and a queen.
They were in the middle of a river,
They crossed with a hanging rope
- She fell.
She would have survived if there were none
little hope.
My brother is my sister.
My brother is Canada.
It is just a matter of nerves.
Not forgotten.
Waiting for a plane toilet.
This challenge,
She could be the Hagazuzah.
Sitting on the fence
Between reality and sleepiness.
Forget that everyone is really the same.
That because of a simple expression
of fear
everything is retained,
And everything is clear.
I connect with the Otter People, brother.
If only two things remained, then
that would be you and the river.
When we breathe, we will
continue to take these life-threads
the moment they stayed behind.
By elimination.
Standing on the bridge is like
merge into the origin,
Finding the focal point.
Be sure it was there.
The imagined is not enough.
This place would
You can thaw to water.
the best break.
Opposite that place.