the spitbuckets action
The
Boxers have their own Polemic. The Fist has its own Gentle, yet Forcible Coercion. Just like mama. The Movement, its Kidney; the
Crowd, its Witness; the Spit-Bucket, its Action. What
Transpires within the Confines of the Ring, is a Confrontation of an Inarguable and Meticulous Organization. The Visceral World, is a City, a
Ring in Red, where the slum is a
Room in the Retina, and Sight, a Preposterous
Intrusion. The Fight’s Socializing Strategy, is Revealed to the Jaw
without a Sign. Each Movement: a Navigation through the Cross-Hairs of Being-Thrown Through the Sternum of what
Lies Below, the Moment, after Being-Laid-Out. Gums, Ruptures,
Sweat, the Grunt of Experience as Antagonistically,
a Construction of a Personalized Momentum of Architecture. This Situation, Stinks-Up-The-Shit
and Permeates Through-and-Through (is) the Work. The Witnesses’
Expectations of the Context of the Fight, Transitions to an Elapse, through the
Awareness of Witnessing an Act that Penetrates,
neither Time nor Space, but of the Entirely Anti-Social
Condition, in Itself.
