Rupert Loydell

11. HEART IN A WHIRL

The shell-shocked present tense is running up and down the path. Silence is second nature to me; I had forgotten how to scream, never been taught to love. Intentions are suddenly possible again, planned studies which may resemble coincidences. I don’t want to know your history, experience is devastating. We should be playing to our strengths: it is time to study the ways in which people come alive.

12. SCHWARZWALD

A meandering path through the woods; I am really nervous now. Who inhabits this tumbledown cottage? Why am I here with only you for company? Why does the horizon slip further away from us the nearer we get? Movement is embedded in changing patterns of use, series of words never to be repeated exactly. They never permit us to comprehend entirely where we actually are. I dislike narrative, but this story is not rooted in anything I have a grasp of. The happy ending is, once again, pulled out of reach.

30. RURAL GEOMETRY

Finding my way across the room is an experiment in navigation. I do not know your name but you smile and step away. The ski-lift is not working so we walk to where we are going and choose the menu alone. There is an echo when I remove the lid, a shout when the contents spill out into the room, roll toward the point where all things meet.

59. SUPPLEMENTAL REALITY

In one cage are earth and CDs, in another smooth white pebbles. The centre of the space is full of eggs in a grid, gently placed on a pile of sand. The room is lit in violet, to enter or leave you must use the stairs, which are covered in books you have to walk on. Everything is out of line, dislocated. There is a scuffed violin next to an empty violin case: the room is full of silent music. Empty bowls are full of space, a video loop flickers in the darkest corner.

62. FOR THE EYE OF THE BEAUTIFUL BEHOLDER

The coincidences are too much to bear. The distant moon over the entire city, the tree at the corner of the ruined temple. Serrated light and shadowed lines, a drift into silence and listening, the fallen tree. The place is abuzz with beginnings: flocks of birds, formations of people, panic before a storm. Families and friends are busy doing three or four things at once, patterns are in constant motion. Whenever I manage to stand still, you are never nearby.