Housekeeping
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Hearts
A modest collection.
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Finger mazes
Inside a museum on top of a hill, I imagine running my hands across the surface of an object on display. A sign nearby reads, “please do not touch.”
I imagine I have a mobile phone, running my fingers across its square plateaus and gridded ravines. Communication puzzles (I long to reach its destination).
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Hairs
I count them in a contest against time.
After declaring an approximate number, I enlist a volunteer to confirm the number by plucking. She must be gentle with the tweezing and tally the score anew with each hair removed.
(click for diagram)
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Musics
(Cymbal’d music for an audience of one.)
She brings the plates crashing together, a display for outer ears: “I am mad as a cymbal,” dancing side to side, beating her stomach for a drum.
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Spoons
There have been many conjurers, famous and not so.
The classic bending of the spoon. It’s been ill-received and parodied in films.
To work properly, my telekinesis thrives swirling in the choppiness of unknown perceptual seas. I perform well under the duress of a viewer’s casual doubt, better when no one is looking or expecting anything. I learned this from my brother, am little aware if he still practices.
I take care not to see my reflection in the dome of the spoon (vanity is obtrusive). Here: I’ve done it, shaped the neck into a swan’s.
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