Limited, Inc.

                              1. It started when you spun around.  Holding your arms out, you rapidly twirled around, first a snowflake, then a bird, then a cyclone. Then you stopped, and the house and the ash tree ran around you as fast as they could. It was like a dream.  There were things that you could do that were like dreaming, except that you were still awake. Sometimes you would have a dream where you were just spinning and spinning, and you would wake up and feel sick. You would wander upstairs and lay down on the sofa in the living room, which looked interesting and almost like a  room with a new personality  in the dark. You fell to the ground, shrieking. It was as if you had found a secret door in being awake that led to being in a dream. Another thing like this was swinging and looking up at the sky. It didn’t work if you paid attention to anything else.  You had to keep your eyes fixed on the vast, cupped blue, and you would make a pendulum’s course, getti

      Dad's hair.           Dad's hair is always short, as short as he can get it.  Mom cuts it.  Mom has barber's scissors, a whole set of them, which she keeps in a brown leather pouch in her drawer in the bathroom.  There are short fingernail clippers and there are some funny looking toothed scissors ‑ both blades of the part that swings open being provided with fine metal teeth for more precise, one at a time hair cutting. Then there are two different sized plain blade scissors. All of these scissors are fit snugly into little loops of leather that line the pouch.  Mom also has an old fashioned kind of barber's clippers.  The clippers is a machine about as big as a telephone receiver.  It is black and has a switch on the side, and two serrated metal strips attached to the front of it. The electric cord runs out of the back of it, and right now she has that plugged in.  When she turns the little switch to on the clippers vibrate.  They make an electric gnashin

EVOCATION                                 Let's say door.      A poor enough object.   Not a thing you are inclined   to study   with too much attention.   I can imagine missing   this room someday, but not the door to this room.      So   in the sense of not being overloaded with   meaning, the door is the thing.      Because   this   is how it is, this is what I   am   doing.   I've   tried   to explain the project to people and a   lot   of them   don't   see   it, so I feel like   damn   it,   this   isn't incomprehensible.   There is a method here and I can   explain it.      I   go through this routine.   I write a word down, or   I daydream and I think of a thing. For instance, I look up and I see the door of my room and I think, door.   Then I let the image, or the word - and at this point these things are very close   together   - act as an agent of evocation.   I   let   my mind wander t