Resolving into space | raw and mineral outback light | with my beautiful friend | colours to be mined or | overwhelmed by

<Sturt Stony Desert | Cameron Corner | 1991>

When the desert turns to a sea of flowers | gates of rock and ocean open

The red dirt road leading us into the new | exhilarating | so we tried to fit our hearts to this expansive landscape | our hearts | grew greater

Wisps of memory now | photos in a jade green album | mementos of a burnt paradise | where heaven falls in fossil rain

Existential | blue | powdery desert pinks and reds, the dunes | softly aggregated and pinned out | for moments under those exposing skies | baked lapis lazuli and lizard skitter | throats of ochre | hoarse cries of | pigments being born and | twisting or | basking | seeking to | survive

Give up the struggle to be different or | to be the same | to be yourself or | someone other | the stones say

Give up those lilac shimmering thoughts, the effects of | sunshine dabbling in water

England was a corbel town, fan | vaulting | stone worked like lace | style and culture and artifice, but | the gates of our hearts were parted, we | were pushed through | found ourselves | in thrown space

Giving, with | no thought of return

Building fragile networks of | breath and | glittering black bridges of | words | out into the nothing of the next step, the | place we call home, made of secrets

Don’t disturb us | the stones say | Let us sleep inside you, the real | ballast of your frivolous spirit, the | imponderable torpor, the | sheer weight to drag you back to | the long mule trains of molecules under routine burdens

Our mouths full of stones, and stones in our eyes, our caresses | making stones | part their lips like | young babies | eyelids | tremble and shift

Looking for a new venture | new forms of association to | figure out those days of wonder

All the day a | brink | each moment an | embarkation

Our union | to recall or fabricate | a common purpose, the logical | analogue of kisses

To be at the heart of the desert | a human heart

By belonging to others, not to die

At any time, and particularly at the present, the self-respect of all collaborators, from star to prop-man, is sustained, or diminished, by the theme and purpose of the film they are working on.
– Point 5 of “The Archers Manifesto” (Emeric Pressburger, letter to Wendy Hiller, 1942)


from the series hypergrammar (open-ended, 2012–present)