TEMPLE HQ

THIS DREAM AGAIN, DEJA VU!

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11-17-2021

HOME for the time being, what pretends at safety in the tundra, drywall slatted polymerized wooden frame, a hollow body run through with poison and electricity. I have the run of the place, stuck offensively like a tent in the empty, long beyond where the city ends, looking out the window across the plains silent to the horizon. A false home in a permafrost that violently rejects any attempt to put down a foundation like this.

White walls and white lights, the illumination so basic it makes your skin crawl. In the rooms we unpack, it feels like the cloistered office of a doctor, windowless, the interior of an egg speckled with personal effects and consumer-grade colors and chemistries.

Night falls, out here it’s blackness, grey ground, brown soil, little specks of snow adorning like ashes standing outside, wind whipping ten feet into the backyard so violent to throw you onto the ground. I’m hurrying inside while some mysterious polymer congeals into a more palatable form. Yellow over the stove from beneath the microwave gives an eerie light to it, that old-fashioned incandescence, when cigarettes stained the color of lamps. It’s too clean now. Lightbulbs are cold, give off cold pale light, cigarettes replace with water vapor, paneling first placed with wallpaper has now given way to eggshell paint over battleship grey primer. All that’s solid is steaming into frozen air.