For the happy man! - Collected writings DEPRESSION: Ed Atkins

to the cool and
OK flats.
Coherence being interminably flat, of course.
Which is looking down.
Or maybe up.
And the correct line of sight, of course,
being OUT.
And, really, we’re out walking and talking about a temporal
equivalence that rhymes the ancestral with the futural,
here.
So you say.
Eliminates the ancestral, rather: replaces it with the
same chicken-skinned thigh that barges in through the opening
at the other end. A loop of muscle and fat and natural cropped
hair, stout and in and out the window.
And our hands run up and down the thighs
And our hands caress our thighs
And this flatness that seizes and petrifies me me is in
riven with the most impossibly dramatic scenery. Mountains
rising high above the clouds; ravines that plummet as if at speed
in looking to levels beneath imagining. And my immobility,
you say, should not be taken as a sign of calm.
Only that I am flatness incarnate – pre- and post- flat-