Blurbebebebbbb or Voisez IV

It is as if the contents of your head shrinked and in its place, bloated air pressures your skull. you are being submerged underwater but still being able to breathe. Hardly breathing. The reality of being one with one’s self seems as a distant self achievement, to compose, no, to sculpt the exo-imagery of a body to the audience stares. Extacy or etymologically ex-stasis, being outside the body looking in, us as a different person us as an object for ourselves. We relate to the fact we do not know who we are, we have been trained to sculpt this exo-imagery. To create a ready conclusio of what we display to the beloved audience. The audience yawns, a tear slides from their eye socket rolling on their cheek. The exo-imagery fails. You are not a specimen worthy of our eyes to fixate upon. You are null. Null, imaginary, irrational. To the eyes of the audience, through the eyes of ex-stasis it is a body, but a body buried beneath a see through acrylic coating. Clear enough to see but blurred by the light bias, bending and breaking through the semi-opaque. Acrylic melts and screams inaudible, twisting while heat displays its function. A chemical reaction, energy defeats, eliminates the acrylic. Blur dissapates and the image is clear. Not of beauty perhaps, but not too painful for the eyes to see. Ex-stasis. The air deflates.

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