Glue Narrative by Ray Ogar
>>> COPYRIGHT 2010
Published in the Arthouse Sketchbook Project.
so this thing called glue that i release as a film over all that is around me; this is what i buff on and occasion into a variety of objects, surfaces, people, animals and relics. not so much to make new, or preserve but more to later peal away and sift through with my fingers...
the body lays limp and flux as a white shadow of slight angle; too hot and the leftovers of skinning and slice and the shell would be a candle the shape of she. but i could examine the pore at the lower precise and inner angle near her wrist; here a slit, there dust, perhaps impressions of the mites that groomed her in her sleep; would i be able to see how they were to wade in her mucus membranes? would they even go there? or only in the areas of the body where one twists, turns, flexes and creates crevice?
the fur is a frontier unfurled across the table, but under near is its host, the father/mother of the fur, the it that died and never woke, the glued, the encased and then later released; at now i see downer in the near of its follicled pate; has the glue cast captured any of this creature's own parasites as that above? fleas, ticks, lice, vermin of the micro sort? is this me trying to capture a movement in case broken? do i look in my workroom and see these ghosts or white and off-white and near gray hang and lean and slough still? do i even examine more of the pile?
so the pile is a strata of faux post skin unconnected and unexamined, laying more as errors in resin of the turned out outer of those waxed with glue; the lower lowest below remains the stay of darkened brown, aged befores of not only hominid and the furred but of the avian, the insectoid, sea born and those lost of structure. could these left-ings and shouldn'ts tell us the origins of the fateless? can we discover the untainted and the original despite these being only shells of the former us? you will not know what i speak of, ever, of this collection of cells unfolded in the pyramid pile, like skins redacted from host or glass orniments frosted then snapped then lain half-crushed. should i lay under it all? will i become the inverse of those remain's gone? perhaps if i wear these glue skins i will take on the mantle of them all in psycholog and physic.