Do what you can/Pass away now.
Poetic[as] :
This place was left for the good of infrastructure, a crumbling economy or modernity’s heartless push forward. Rust of iron, crumbled paint and !!rotting wood – decaying flesh of a forgotten space once loved, once touched often. !!1!!
How can these spaces pass without rite - Without wake? They were just as alive as we now.
We must lay them to sleep.
They must know their death; they must understand the necessity of their inactivity as fuel for our progression. For change, destructive innovation. !!
Keep still space; pass now knowing you served with great heart those that abided in you.
Your beauty is felt in your decay,!! the glory you once held has not gone, IT will never go, it will always remember the actions and breath that stood in your volume.
Lord bless this space. Let it pass to your merciful hands without fear, without anger. Enrich it’s absence with understanding of it’s worth through emptiness. This inflated stillness that now enwraps our bodies.
Pass now, space. Know your immortality is rich with decay.
Prose[aic] :
These will be funerals for abandoned spaces. These spaces are marks left by modernity, left by progress. Some spaces wait to be reformed; others remain as buffers, safety zones abandoned as to surround chaos with stillness.
We will serve these spaces their rites and wakes. Ritualize their decay with candles, song, speech, gesture and drink. We will attempt a proper funeral for the space that provides with nothing, a necessary nothing, a beautiful nothing.
The plan:
We go to the space. We enter it. We dress it for ritual. We pay our respects; the preacher serves it its rites. We take time to feel the space pass. We drink. We wake the space. We clean. We leave…. One trace.
The list:
One white suit – the preacher. (Hopefully Max Kelly or Nader Hasan… or anyone).
10 black suits – the party. (Anyone interested).
Two bottles of Jameson.
Two cases of beer.
A camera man – the documentarien (Hopefully Alexander Kamino).
Anyone down?
