Power Board

That which is without, is no less worthy than that which is with.

That which is not worthy of mention need not be overlooked.

The ordinary, the mundane, the unspectacular, is already well documented, by Duchamp's nephews and nieces.

We go over covered ground when we are moved to do so, or when we are without a proper purpose, or when we have forgotten history's lessons.

Shapes are always shifting though, and we never seem to be able to make a full account of them,

So we'll start from scratch again.

Always so many cables today, so much for the cableless society. The language the cables speak is still gibberish. The words are always jumbled. They make a mess eve after they have been found to work, and, they make a mess of the space they occupy. 

A cabled place is an unhappy place. It is the worried face of the internet, scrambling, slipping, sliding, grasping for traction.

Burford suggesting gluing the power board to the wall. He suggested using the weight of the table to press wedges until the glue dried. 

I have three wedges now to hold the bottom, the middle and the top. They form one side of the discussion now, with the electric plugs, black versus brown, wood versus plastic, new versus old.

It is gruesome, but this is a conversation and this cannot be not be denied. It's particularly a discussion because the two sides are so evident. The discussion takes place in a tight gully, dead-ended, dust gathered below and open at the top, with keys, my phone and the screen above, which is deadpan to all the cables' efforts.

I am reminded of the famous painting of five quinces. 

We are always so determined to find beauty in the same places even when we think we're open.

Let's hope the glue sets, baby.