The day before
Christmas I'm looking through a bus' smudged window rolling past
a construction site where the Bride is hanging, perhaps from a
rope, in an isolated cage, or crucified. The bachelors remain
below, left only with the possibility of churning, agonized masturbation.
Duchamp invents the working parts of these two sexual machines,
are as arbitrary and absurd as the machinery of Roussel which
inspired them. Their mechanisms are so complicated that a wood and steel armature has strung up, with the premonition
Not long ago there was a muddy hole here, surrounded by a
linked fence, with a sign advertising Space for Lease. We
appropriate space as we do everything in sight, instead of the
illusion of sight, and of space.