You can’t start something because the last thing you began is still incomplete.
It’s a committed pursuit, but as much as you thought you were headed in the straight line toward the next thing, the first thing takes the turn. A doesn’t move onto B, letters change to numbers, and squares to holes—a bad smell. Sanitation is next door.
We were sitting there, in the stall, trying to memorize the new code to get into the venue. It’s her day to choose, and of course this comes up. We’ve never tried to go. I imagined a huge space with sparkling palms and complementary coat check.
I scratched off the L on the sticker pasted on the door. Now it reads ICK TOES.
It was better before—
“not too intimidating huh?”
I wasn’t paying attention. But I already had the code memorized because I received it when I was notified earlier. I tried to stick the torn gooey pieces of the sticker back on the metal stall. I wanted to believe what I did could be undone.
“no, not so much.” I repeated it back pretending less rehearsed to make her feel level.
We stood in front of the camera eye, on hold. I looked down second guessing my choices and noticed a rip in my tights. I want to leave. But we were already here, already at C.
And now too late. Determined, she began her attempt with the code.
Bring a friend, it said... it’s like the best night out you’ve ever had...
We were so close. I even wore three coats, and there she was: violently fucking up their language. The eye blinking red with every mistake. I knew I should’ve tried instead—“like amber or ember???” she looked to me for an answer. I tried not to look disappointed. She messed up. I’m sure that’s fair, but now the camera had our facials. So, game over. We won’t be able to try again. Together, running back, letting off adrenaline and happy again, using the code confidently now, yelling and making fun of it all. What we couldn’t access.
It began to smell of hot rot + burning rubber.
“sanitation isn’t all waste...” I said, scheming a new game.
It’s power. Her smile grew across her face from untroubled to wicked.
We only knew the plant like a playground. It doesn’t matter anymore except for those who relied on it before cutting-off like us. We pushed the gate open, only pretending there was a threat of being caught.
No one worries about trash monsters, only rats.
There is a switch board inside the warehouse; it always surprises me how massive it is. There used to be real locks but now they’re just a decorative past. Based on the location of the party and the gridded planes, we estimated which connections we needed to switch off. Acting out control.
It’s just tricky to think of movement in time other than as a line. Going forward, thinking ahead, wondering what’s next. Only past and future.
The present performance precursor.
A change. Our movement shifted from a forward motion to a sideways feeling. The body removed. Dimensional now, and maybe underground? But I think we actually shut it down.