Meditations
in a bottle top
If it will make you take me seriously…
…I am Karl Marx.
and I say:
Rebel for life
the wedding of the two temporalities.
One being the spirit of liberty; to rebel is life.
The other a contractual commitment, that is, for the duration of my life I commit myself to liberty.
The latter being an alienating oath in its ignorance of the former, a castrating “I take your hand in marriage”.
Naturally the bride screams in protest “Companies do not produce water. They produce plastic bottles!”
Bottle making has become a joke. The designers have forgotten that there are women inside the bottles! The bottle makers have forgotten they are inside the bottles too!
And Russian dolls are everywhere despised for being so full of themselves, so I dare not move like mother.
And so I turn to stone and starve.
It is then in the garden that Godmother Simone visits me.
She says that:
Thought is certainly mans supreme dignity; but it is exercised in a vacuum, that is, inside a plastic bottle. And consequently, in appearance, when it does not seize hold of its object, which can be none other than the universe… it’s plastic bottle… you have your heavy head. Just as astronomers invent imaginary celestial spheres so as to find their way about amongst the movements and positions of the stars, here is sketched an abstract diagram of your head: bottled.
Cups...
are...
Spinning.
She then proceeds to push a plastic bottle into the ocean and says
Place in the midst of these swirling waters a boat.
Place in the midst with my starry hand a star.
Star to star; tonight the constellation determines itself.
Speaking of Marx the groom she continues
He conceived history as though he attributed to matter what is the very essence of mind- an unceasing aspiration towards the best.
Well aspire no further as the best has arrived; life is liberty and liberty is life!
In court the Russian doll retorts:
My androgyny alone is not a masquerade in perpetual motion but the water in which this bottle is placed, so too it is not a company that produces plastic bottles but these hands.
She raises her hands.
Starry hands are in company.
An entourage of stars
…are looking at you.
Starry hands here begin to form a plastic bottle from water
cusping and grasping
casting the nested hollowing
that is the space created between the two temporalities
the two genesis narratives
the two things that a woman must be.
genesis is a woman trying on a dress.
To conclude:
A plastic bottle is neither a tragedy nor a painting
so keep your chastising anorexia.
It is a charming and ephemeral creation, not an everlasting work of art.
And that is recycling.
‘The moment I had to choose between the man I loved and my plastic bottles, I chose my bottles.’- CocoLoco
And so, my dear, I hope this softens your sorrows when you see trash accumulating along the shoreline; it is yours. The whole world dances in your bottle top.
If it will make you take me seriously…
…I am Karl Marx.
and I say:
Rebel for life
the wedding of the two temporalities.
One being the spirit of liberty; to rebel is life.
The other a contractual commitment, that is, for the duration of my life I commit myself to liberty.
The latter being an alienating oath in its ignorance of the former, a castrating “I take your hand in marriage”.
Naturally the bride screams in protest “Companies do not produce water. They produce plastic bottles!”
Bottle making has become a joke. The designers have forgotten that there are women inside the bottles! The bottle makers have forgotten they are inside the bottles too!
And Russian dolls are everywhere despised for being so full of themselves, so I dare not move like mother.
And so I turn to stone and starve.
It is then in the garden that Godmother Simone visits me.
She says that:
Thought is certainly mans supreme dignity; but it is exercised in a vacuum, that is, inside a plastic bottle. And consequently, in appearance, when it does not seize hold of its object, which can be none other than the universe… it’s plastic bottle… you have your heavy head. Just as astronomers invent imaginary celestial spheres so as to find their way about amongst the movements and positions of the stars, here is sketched an abstract diagram of your head: bottled.
Cups...
are...
Spinning.
She then proceeds to push a plastic bottle into the ocean and says
Place in the midst of these swirling waters a boat.
Place in the midst with my starry hand a star.
Star to star; tonight the constellation determines itself.
Speaking of Marx the groom she continues
He conceived history as though he attributed to matter what is the very essence of mind- an unceasing aspiration towards the best.
Well aspire no further as the best has arrived; life is liberty and liberty is life!
In court the Russian doll retorts:
My androgyny alone is not a masquerade in perpetual motion but the water in which this bottle is placed, so too it is not a company that produces plastic bottles but these hands.
She raises her hands.
Starry hands are in company.
An entourage of stars
…are looking at you.
Starry hands here begin to form a plastic bottle from water
cusping and grasping
casting the nested hollowing
that is the space created between the two temporalities
the two genesis narratives
the two things that a woman must be.
genesis is a woman trying on a dress.
To conclude:
A plastic bottle is neither a tragedy nor a painting
so keep your chastising anorexia.
It is a charming and ephemeral creation, not an everlasting work of art.
And that is recycling.
‘The moment I had to choose between the man I loved and my plastic bottles, I chose my bottles.’- CocoLoco
And so, my dear, I hope this softens your sorrows when you see trash accumulating along the shoreline; it is yours. The whole world dances in your bottle top.
the russian doll effect
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