The Institute seeks to normalize the mad and sick individual.

paradoxically with a perpetual mad anxiety over our innate potential to be mad and sick.

am i saved? yes ( ) no ( )

am i faithful? yes ( ) no ( )

am i I? yes ( ) no ( )

is this my body? yes ( ) no ( )

is this my mind? yes ( ) no ( )

is this my writing? yes ( ) no ( )

are you reading? yes ( ) no ( )

The 'I' which approaches the text is already itself a plurality of other texts, of codes which are infinite , or more precisely, lost.

Roland Barthes, S/Z, 1970

infinite (my emphasis)

really?
perhaps.

but I am first thrown into a world I had no choice over.

why here? why male? why this body? why 1982? why an island? why my name?

but I am persuaded that I am free to choose.

wealth, health, CPF, love, faith, religion, education, work, death and Lim Chu Kang...

the choices seem infinite. but the path is inevitably as it will be.

I am born alone.
I live alone.
I breathe alone.
I sleep alone.
I dream alone.
I confess alone.
I die alone.

I obliterate my choices as a choice is made (freely or by external forces)
so unless one should turn their backs against everyone and everything in this world,
then the loneliness is a misery.

our first choice should be for the finite Self in relation to the infinite Other.

'I' is plural.
but it is not infinite.

this ist ein Heim,

a HOME

for t h o u g h ts

i

I

form

inward

holy

perfectly you

my every second

GONE
LONE
TONE
ZONE

the epic of my life
a little second gone

a big leap to

losing you

talk
-
-ing

for no
response

gradual increase of the soul
of a soul-less body

and ends in silent despair

how do

you do.

image of you
and many more to come

i think
TOO MUCH
without
sensing enough
with the spirit
no soul

SPIRIT
NOT CARROT

a: are you lonely?

b: [pause] yes, I am.

a: i'll accompany you.

b: [pause] No...we accompany ourselves.

a: that's a thought.

b: it is true.

a: so are you alone now?

b: no.

a: oh?

b: I am lonely. but I am not alone.

a: how?

b: by definitions.

a: tell me more.

b: I can't. I'm alone.

bodies do not move.

for you think you travel.
you think you move to somewhere.
but you are still intact, entrapped in your little consciousness.
your little room of
pleasure, desire, hope, indulgence, grace and lust


have i more?

as many as the room can hold.

you do not move. your mind wanders around the room. but you do not move.

[have i more peace]

worlds move in our little rooms.
we don't move.
we just watch...

[have i no peace]

and then the lights go off.

and you stare.
only Question remains.

and the lights come on again.

and you are in your room again.

welcome back.

i have a body.

but it does not obey my mind.

i pee. not because my mind wants to.

but the urge is understood at that level.

i have excess before i have access.

i cannot transcend my body.
but i can imagine
bodily fluids are in us.
and the gush of blood a release of sorts; metaphorically and literally

let the wound and violence be my paradox of release

trans-desire

when the pleasure seeking is no longer the physical body but the image


when the desire is not about the act but the maintenance of the perpetual Desire.


always to resist full manifestation of the prize but to stroke it delicately with eyes wide shut.

never transcendence but perpetual hope, perpetual labour for pleasure.

I constantly need. want. desire.

i only lie if it is otherwise.