Timing

 

When the test subject is released into the wild should be precision clockwork...  

Early morning or late night change from point of origin to distant time zones...  

Where you are is not always when they are consuming content...  

Catch them when they're hungry...  

Starved for contact...  

Mid-day rush hour has too much interaction and stress...  

Bellies full with rushed lunch,  

Convenience store offerings not taken seriously...  

Get them when they crave kobe beef that slides down like butter...  

Be the Croizet Cognac Cuvée Léonie 1858,  

Or at least feel like it to their overburdened taste buds...  

Sensory confusion is about the when rather than the what or the how...  

Blindfold them, strike the match, then hit them with the ice...  

Melting wax from red candles splattering on the skin...  

Touch the audience in places that make them feel on the edge of ashamed,...  

Like they know too much,...  

Like they've been told a secret that no one else can ever know...  

It's just between your art and their perception...  

Offer them physical sensation and visceral emotion...  

Bare the soul as if no one is really listening,  

Embers burning the roots underground,  

Traveling for miles like strands of mycelium communicating with the root systems of groves of trees that keep the soil from washing down into the river and out to the sea...  

There is always a tiny bit of their attention that is listening...   

When the stars are at the proper place in the sky there is always a small piece of soul absently observing,  

Drawing circles in the bathwater with delicate fingers while daydreaming...  

This is where you get in...  

Set the salt in the waves on fire at just the right moment,    

Just as the sun angles over the horizon...  

Just as the moon pulls up the water from the roots to the shore...  

The place where the garter squeezes the thigh is where that magic happens...  

The way flesh feels better than it looks even when it looks as good as it feels...  

It's all about how it makes you feel...  

It's not about logic, mathematics, or grammar consciously practiced...  

These things fall into place all on their own...  

If you time it right...  

If you listen to the whispers and the music in the fan blades turning...  

Know without knowing...  

Sleepless nights from some unknown contraction of purpose,  

Something is moving below the surface...  

A world always on edge,  

This is how it has always been...  

The tragedy and the triumphs are always the same in a historically cycling pulse...  

Evolution has no direction or ultimate goal,  

It's just life constantly running over obstacles and allowing the changing environment to shape them from asexual single cell division to multicellular copulation through sensual friction... 

Every day brings a series of moments that touch you in places you might not want to admit...  

If the timing is right,  

Finish the thought and then broadcast it on public access like pirate radio...