BLOOD

Blood has nothing to do with life. Blood is ephemera, kept fresh by the living. People are cavalier with their blood. Blood is a clothing. There are indefinable shapes and perfect shapes – they languish in the blood as loose dirt in the sky. But they are only vessels, transporting overvalued elements throughout the body, like oxygen.

It can be said that life is an æther, that it is the act of the unseen. We problematize the unseen because its lineaments are indescribable. We fetishize the describable because we’re simple. Someone says, “if a thing is indescribable, then how can it be a thing?” Using a word such as æther is like drawing a pattern in the sand to delineate a map. That is, it’s practical.