Bored with no thought the boy draws with his finger a dick on layers of ancient dicks he does not yet connect drawing with desire. Curses new in the mouth condense the atmosphere of the school bus randy with adolescence. He doesn’t make a link between the medium of drawing breath and the spit the window’s syrupy residue leaves. Early actions as stone inscriptions when mark-making and thinking are the same. Inside the bus a lobbed pepsi bottle the fester of the end of the end of the day kept to swill around inside some loose tooth blood and drained pimple. The chemical action the process develops is undevelopable. The weak last breath in the lynx can is talking underwater. The subject matter of which constitutes thinking mutual relations come later. Half asleep this morning the pissing boy sees germs squirm op-art crushing cloudy in the toilet bowl. The day before’s cortisol the body not yet learnt to keep hold. The impression Freud drew dicks before interpretation. Germy drops of condensation on the reinforced glass when he used verdichten for the dream work inheres compressed inside the word itself. At some point a form catches in the writer’s mind when the dew point is raised to an ambient temperature. One can convince oneself in all such cases to wake up but never grasp its suspended apparent unendingness. A consciousness spoiled like food full of its own and others’ desires added too quickly to the fridge while never having proof the condensation draws attention to itself. Each drop encloses a rune. The loneliness of the earnest boy a man who can’t not help himself to the leftovers saved for lunch tomorrow. The steamy bus absorbs the coughing fabric full of vapour. The process of reduction is coming into logical relations from without. A watched pot incomplete towards evening. Somewhere becoming rain written in dew is the window of the dream.

Sam Buchan-Watts



Artwork:
Tom Rees
Dewpoint
, 2021