Testing The Site

From before he was born; stretching, pushing against, folding himself up, testing the site, the parameters, the womb encasing him, the body.

He stretched, spine uncoiled, arms hung low with heavy hands, now pushing against horizons.

Occupying a body, both internal and external space, muscles and arms, organs, a face To have control and not; heart beating in his sleep, racing as he runs; rhythmically and then irregular. A gash is felt across his hand, tumours and diseases grow pain free.

His body ages, its gorgeous youth -- its wealth, wilts. The body becomes merely functional, to move things from one place to another, a dry mouth to rearrange all the words that he has already said.

How do you test this site? How can you stretch your body beyond your height? Think thoughts wider than the dimensions of a heavy brain? Skyscrapers, taller than giants on the shoulders on giants. Dwarfed, unable even clean the windows of such a nauseating unnatural height.

Limited, his body cannot carry him across distance or water, limited in his inability to exist alone, his inability of photosynthesis. Not sure if evolution has started to regress. His weakened immune system, the promise of old age accompanied with rising tides, levels of dementia.

How can he fulfil, make the best of this body and place, this site? Is there a way to feel the landscape? To feel the body. A kind of irony, only being able to feel the body through the body. Other bodies through his body all sensations through the body. He only knows the feeling of a rock through the feeling from skin, the feeling from skin, through the nervous system. Something calming about the limitation of the site. If cracked, unhinged, he fears the infinity that would ensue.