The Agent



You were composed body-like. 


You had limbs which could move from angled joints. 


You had a long narrow face and a broad fleshy expanse where a chest could have been. 


You were composed. 


A body-like enclosure. 


Your body enclosed. 


I placed my hands on you.


I was in my fingertips searching for something to open. 


I could feel you cracking underneath.  


Underneath me you fell out of yourself. 


Air expressing itself in snorts gasps and whines. 


You were sounding. 


You were this sound. 


You out of you a sound. 


Sounding out of yourself. 


I hear you:  I am turned, am turning, am being turned. 




When you were worked upon the work was to lay you down and be before you. 


When you were in charge you hired me and I was paid to trace and touch you. 


When in this hire there was barter and exchange as what this scene really was you went with it and I also went with it. 


When you gave away shard and seizure you lost to me your organs and parted with your serialized parts. 


When you began to slant you wanted to be your voice. 


When you did not have it I removed it from it more and it made you obliquer. 


When you were worked I did what I couldn’t do without you. 


When you transferred the body I was touching you gave me your body.


When you gave me your weight I sank under a layer of fat and was underneath you and held you lower than you reconfiguring your fat. 


When you had me let me do it I worked it and held your shape. 


When you did not aid me you fell unto me and began topping me. 


When you marked me below me I pried open your brain. 


When you were in and above me I was bottomed marrow.


When you could not be held by me totally you were composed body by flesh.


When it wasn’t real it could still move but I couldn’t and my body fell out of me.


When my hand found empty spaces I peeled your teeth apart and slid myself in. 


When this was not your home it wasn’t mine either. 


When this was our hole you were on top expressing yourself minimally. 


When you were sound I pulled out of you this sound. 


When I heaved you out of you you remained body like you continued through yourself and made your way to my lips where you found fingers. 


When you found fingers coming repeatedly at you you didn’t retaliate and I was pulled outwards on all sides. 


When you didn’t respond you made yourself.


When you touched my tendons in my thighs they felt like yours. 


My legs they were all yours contracting as you touched my strength. 


Your touching is my force.


When you touched my bones in my skull they felt like yours. 


My bones they were all yours stacking as you touched my solidity. 


Your touching is my depth.


When you touched my veins in my forehead they felt like yours. 


My veins they were all yours pumping as you touched my blood. 


Your touching is my gore.


When you gashed my innards in my core they felt like yours. 


My viscera they were all yours shedding as you parted them.


Your gashing is my being.



When I held you there you were being held. 


My fingers were wrapped around a bone at the base of your skull.


A bone held a chain of repetitions descending.


I began sliding my fingers down the sides of the chain. 


My fingers moving along in increments. 


Bone after bone you were being counted.


I counted over you counted on you. 


You felt the measure spread over your body. 


I thought you into parts. 


You were divided by my hand. 


Cutting you to measure. 


My fingers were sinking in wrapped around your spine. 


Together we paused the count and held out. 


We waited. 


You thought I would wait. 


You waited for the thought. 


We were suspending this whole thing. 


You were lying waiting. 


I thought: we would continue. 


You could not be sure I really had that thought. 


You only assumed. 


I was being assumed. 


You assuming. 


For me, you assumed a thought I was not yet having myself. 


We were not yet believing in it I assumed. 


I remained assumed by you. I would begin doubting. 


Doubting I would ever start, you doubting the end. 


We were doubting onto one another. 


Doubting if you will be touched.


If I am being touched by you


If you will be the toucher


If you will be touched by touching


If I am receiving touch


If I am in the position to receive


If you are touching me to touch yourself 


If you can get through to yourself through me 


If you could pass through the touching 


If you will be touched 


If you will return


If you will move 


If I move you and you move back


If you will be voicing 


If you will be your voice


If I am touching you to voice you 


If you will be your body


If you will be voicing your body


If you will be voice 


If I am voicing your body


If I am bending your voice


If you will be the body to your voice



We were together in different capacities. 


We had decided in advance. 


I was there to receive it. 


You were to be giving. 


Your hands were to stroke. 


They were stroking shelling and setting. 


I set myself for you. 


You were settling in myself a scene. 


You were scattering fossilising. 


Our debris squeezing. 


Between us crushing. 


We had been embracing pieces. 


I wrote wet onto you.  


You had already written me. 


I saw you and I repeat you. Writing worries into you. 


Abjection posed. 


Unimposing inscription moving.


I didn’t make you. 


You’re not born from me. 


I didn’t birth you who had never been borne aloft out by the facts. 


Were you moved. 


Will you force deprivation. 


Are you also my limit. 


A sufficient impermanent subject. 


Melting by bending giving to be taking. 


Problems stuck in waiting. 




The materials within these texts were initially written during a development of Public Relations a choreographic performance in April 2021. These texts have now become something else through collective editing and rewriting, the bodies and places figured within the text have shifted from the studio to something more like a page.