Every dream feeds my nights

Objects have a way of holding sound in the same way that objects have a way of holding time in the same way that time has a way of holding objects in the same way that sound has a way of holding time in the same way that objects have a time of holding memories in the same way that time slips by like an object of sound in the same way that sand slips away like an aspect of time in the same way that aspects of the self can be reflected in others in the same way that a slight chink in the armour can let the light shine through in the same way that a picture of time can be seen as an object

in a time composed of

the confluence of situations

that lead to an object resonating

with a vibration that is arranged

in the shape of a memory

I am asking you this

who will be coming to dinner tonight?

although perhaps the preferred remembrance

of dear-held-things is that oh-so-one-and-only

it is a regretful fact that those

flesh-flaying fuckers that keep us alive

with their clingy little claws

are the regular dinner guests

ah good old bad night

to you my ghost a gift

continually sprinting towards

a murky watered misremembered past

so populated with the less-than-popular particulars

I hate to be the bearer of bad news

but this song will not sigh only um once

such that the specifics of this one memory

are lost to the savagery of access

that one that strips the flesh clean off

so that a white bone china rings loud

pitted with the acid burns of repeated recollection

this memory in particular being significant

this memory in particular having been visited

on such several occasions that the site

of said access has become the remembered object

rather than the memory itself

a replayed archival document

remaining a little stained around the edges

the tape thinning mutating into a vessel lined

with mirrors forever reflecting its own interior

in the same way that the sound of time is reflected in itself in the same way that a vibration of a thought can consume an object in the same way that an honouring of time is to consume said object in the same way that a remembering of objects is a process led in time in the same way that a silhouette of rhythms is an outline of the self in the same way that a suit of armour can be relatively restrictive in the same way that restrictions can be a better take on an aspect in the same way that a constraint of lived time is the house of the mind in the same way that an echo of time is the shape of an object in the same way that a tilt of the hip can be a memory's key in the same way that some hips are more memorable than others

yes those moody hips

within which can be read

in their specific angle of expression

a mood of the day

one of elation or seduction

allurement or procurement

that leads to said hip bone

being stored in a different drawer

a drawer reserved for circumstantial inflections

that recount an opportunity for

a situation to have a multitude

of potential modes of departure

that for instance had the tilted hip bone

been acted upon in line with its perceived intention

then the remainder of the evening would perhaps

have unfolded in a manner that departs

from the evidence of the memory

but had the intention been perceived in error

then such an awkward presupposition

would have led to a course of action

that could maybe have been regretted

thus leaving an imprint of disdain

within the fabric of the memory

regret itself being the scourge of recollection

a plague-like process that will spread and endure

better in fact for the act

to be resigned to the realm

of potential opportunity missed

of a memory of an intention

of the warmth of a closeness not felt

than to be confronted head-on

as the fickle fizzle of brevity

in the same way that the beginning silhouette can be felt in a song in the same way that the breadth of a breath can be measured in hand in the same way that the memory of an object can be sculpted in a mind in the same way that a memory of a loved one can be held in an object in the same way that a line on the hand can deliver in time in the same way that the right evening light is a religious experience in the same way that the reception of a memory is that same evening light

that light from the bay window of the balcony

that stretches across the floor

now held upon the surface of the object

which is in turn vibrating

burrowing itself out from the fabric

of the surrounding air as it differentiates

object from subject from memory from nemesis

not longing to be back in the sticky

entangled past that the memory entails

but instead focusing upon the process

the walky act of getting some

leading to an overwhelming compulsion

to consume not the vestige of the memory

but the vibrational network of

psychedelic capillaries that snake around

the memory like a multicoloured aura

filling the air with the distinct

timbre of heavily used ballet shoes

still containing the writhing rhythm of each dance

each subsequent dilapidation

raising the stinking ballet shoe

to the ear you know conch style

introduces a familiar mournful melody

a vestige of some big boy brass movie soundtrack

to a film that was once exceedingly

influential upon the development

of the adolescent self

yet whose present significance

now holds infinitely dismissable

despite the insignificance of the hollow lyric

what remains of the requiem

is the heroic instrumental melody

the melody that still moves in the way

that emotionally manipulative music

that is strategically deployed

within the confluence of visual montage

proves to move most other feeling beings

sentient enough to follow narrative arcs

although now divorced from the narrative arc

this vestige of a manipulated feeling remains

as goosebumps without clear meaning

springing up on cool chicken skin

in a trebling ice-level escapade

so you are lying there like an avocado

with the centre scooped out

awkwardly wrapped around the covers

clinging somewhere between hips and lips

to the sound-image memory

unsure of a direct source but aware

of a slight dusting in the air

of the narrow strip of midnight light

of the shirt and its smell

of that thing that hits just right

of the mud trudged up the stairs

in the same way that the river is right whether once or twice in the same way that the delivery of an object is a focus of a feeling in the same way that the echo of time can be heard in the object in the same way that the terms of delivery can be sculpted with vibration in the same way that a mother of a memory is felt in an object in the same way that the nose is a primary organ of remembrance

here it comes

a short fumble of thumbs

followed by a massive migraine

um yep

you will and I

I will and they

they will and we

we will and she

she will and he

he will be still

come on now

let's get this over with

at least let me sleep

not swivel around this

mistake of a moment

for a minute longer

either forget it

or deal with it

in the same way that the light of an evening can help you to remember in the same way that forgetting is a necessary feature of the object in the same way that an arrangement of rhythms is a slice out of time in the same way that a cake can reveal its author's intent in the same way that a memory's indent makes an echo of an object in the same way that the access to the indent is a shape of time in the same way that the light on the shape can throw a bit of shade in the same way that the shade can be a welcome respite from the sun in the same way that the fade of an object can be composed as song.

Samuel Brzeski (UK/NO) is an artist and writer based in Bergen. He studied English Literature at University of Sheffield, took an MA in Fine Art at The Art Academy, University of Bergen, and participated in the Mountain School of Art programme in Los Angeles. Recent and ongoing projects include exhibitions, performances and publications with Lydgalleriet (Bergen), Studio 17 (Stavanger), Inversia Festival (Murmansk), Galleri Box (Gothenburg), KRAFT (Bergen), and Chao Art Centre (Beijing).