"Although scheduled for the grunt's adjacent space, the piece began in the gallery proper, where audience members lined up to deposit identification in exchange for a seven-channel headset...After the first twenty headsets had been distributed, audience members were lead to a room where Arcan, dressed in t-shirt and jeans, paced back-and-forth within a taped-off rectangle approximately ten feet long and four feet wide. In one hand, what looked like a car reflector; in the other, a tea towel, with a calendar printed on it, which the artist carried with him at all times...he would transport the reflector from one end of the rectangle to the other, leaving it on a small (Modernist) table before retreating, then returning for it, repeating the action. He did this five or six times before the audio tracks kicked in, at which point Arcan stopped his relay. As he moved slowly around (within) the rectangle, staring out (leering?), lips quivering, I familliarized myself with the audio tracks: a cross-cultural selection of songs, guy talk, birdcalls, women's voices engaged in what sounded like sexual acts, a spiritual recitation, a father and son dialogue, what sounded like an audio palimpsest of all seven tracks at once..." - Michael Turner, Love Claims, July 2004

Once we start, it never stops. That's the patterning impulse. That's the emergent for ya. our patterns and repetitions- they structure us, they compose us. A platonic model points to the phenomenon, wants it to be anthropocentric. But an Abo model allows for a-human communicants. And one word for all of this is Love. Love love love, the perfect abyss.Or is it that the abyssal is only our senseof self folding and unfolding in super-rapid? And is this sense any better than touch or smell or... or... my gawd is that amber? Are you wearing aromatic amber? Omygawd, I love that smell. But before that happens, let me tell ya, I'm going to do something with translators, a mocked up environment, and an action of some kind, but omygawd, what is it about you? Cmere...