08.11.2016 – 08.25.2016
Opening: August 11th, 6-9 PM
227 Sterling Road Unit 109A
“It’s like those flowers take steroids or something,” Tommy said.
They were looking at an enclosure of water hyacinths, one of those silly-looking polystyrene frames, kind of like a window in the water.
To Paul, the flower-pen was more symbolic than utilitarian, like those courtyards in Kerala, demarcated by nothing more than a difference in floor material; nothing in particular was dividing the two seemingly distinct areas; a figurative line drawn in the literal sand.
Despite this, Paul knew this was not the case; these seemingly arbitrary barriers efficiently prevented one environment from spreading into the other. He thought about invisible systems of control, he thought about Deleuze, he thought about his big nose and his eyes always full of tears. In the hyacinths’ case, the barricade served to deter their rampant and relentless growth. They could not be stopped (because of this, they were soon to be banned); they would keep growing until they gobbled up an entire body of water.
Like a florid disease’s consumption of the mind.
Paul thought about how Tommy was just like a water hyacinth, sucking the air out of any room he walked in, his body swelling and growing with all its stolen strength (instant synthetic growth, his glowing limbs dusted in some kind of psychic whey powder). Paul’s stupid little Gilles-eyes would well up as his heart jumped to his throat. Whenever he saw Tommy.
A hideous-beautiful love-weed.
“Whatever,” Paul said, “the stupid things are illegal now. They’ll all be gone soon.”