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He takes 10 blocks of stone and piles them up in a teetering column, each block perched on the edge of another as they spiral up side against side in stepped piazza’s. On each three chairs are scattered array. Upon the first they sit evenly spaced in a neat horizontal row across the middle of the block and along the second they are lined against the right edge in an even spaced row facing the front and on the third they form an inwardly facing circle in the centre of the block whilst on the fourth they are in the same alignment but facing outwards and tucked in the front left corner and on the fifth there is one in each of the other three corners that had been empty in the former and they all sit facing to the middle and on the sixth they are stretched out in a line diagonal from one corner to another and on the seventh they are clustered awkwardly to the left side whilst on the eighth two are side by side in the middle with the third in a corner facing away and on the ninth there is one in the centre and on the two edgeless sides the other two are teetering at the brink and on the tenth the chairs are lying sprawled at odd angles as if hurled with great force...
He takes 9 maps of the world and with a pair of scissors snips at their contour lines, and as the pieces fall to the ground below, he dances and paces and stumbles and jumps. The pieces flutter and scatter at random forming a chanced vision of the world. Each map he cuts a little differently, the first he cuts into vertical strips, the second he cuts into horizontal strips, the third he cuts into little grided squares, the fourth he cuts along the edges of the countries, the fifth he cuts along the lines of the rivers, the sixth he cuts along the contours of the mountains, the seventh he cuts from the centre of one capital to another, the eighth he cuts to the crescendos of Wagner, and on the ninth he flings away the scissors and tears the last to shreds...
He stands in the middle of a town square one day and looks around at the intersection of 8 roads, the first path is the one that he walks down every day to where he works in the square so he does not walk it again, the second path he picks is the first on his left and he walks along it knocking on the second of every eighth door and taking every first left that he comes across till he reaches once more the street in which he lives, the next day he takes the third path and on the doorstep of every third house he places a white pebble and he keeps walking straight ahead till he reaches a dead end and turning around walks back again painting a blue question mark on every door with a pebble on it, the fourth path he traverses is a windy path with few houses and he skips along it humming with his hands in his pockets till he reaches the river and heads back to his home, the fifth path he chooses is narrow and tight, he runs his hands along each of the two sides and when he meets a passerby he says hello politely before headbutting them and stepping over the staggering victim till he reaches a church at the end of a street and sleeps in a pew for penance till the morning, the next morning having walked back the same way that he came he chooses the sixth path in which he takes every turn on his right knocking at every door along the way begging for oranges and lemonade and when those things are finally offered he goes inside and converses and plays chess with his host till late into the night, the seventh path he walks down is a wide sweeping boulevard and he hands out leaflets explaining the situation he is in, to anyone who'll take one and he walks up one side first and then the second side and up and down each side till all the leaflets are taken, and on the last day of his holiday he walks down the eighth path in long wide strides till he passes out of the town and out onto the open road where he walks and walks and walks and walks and walks until he can walk no more...
He draws 7 vertical lines along the page and another seven along the horizontal to build a town of classical proportions all streets equal in their size and length and pacing and intersections, the first vertical is filled with churches with their vertical spires stretching to the sky and the street echoes with the sounds of pealing bells, the second vertical is filled with laughing children skipping hopscotch and chattering about their hopes and dreams, the third vertical is filled with mothers hanging out the washing and with dedication caring for their families, the fourth vertical is dominated by the local court and surrounded by lawyers each arguing to uphold the laws of the town, the fifth vertical is marked by the rocking chairs outside in which sit the old women and men of the town dispensing their advice for any who will listen, along the sixth vertical lie the residences of the knights of the town, the brave men who so nobly defended the town when it was threatened, and along the seventh vertical hover quietly in their own worlds the bachelors and old maids who tut their heads in dismay at the wrongs of society, along the first horizontal street are the noblemen in their grand family houses with crests above their doors that they polish everyday, along the second horizontal street leaning against the railings of the balconies swoon the towns debutants in their new ball dresses glancing curtly at their peers as they compete for attention of any passing male, along the third horizontal soldiers and local thugs scrap over the slightest of offences, along the fourth horizontal sit slumped the local youths who lacking employment and too old for childhood games wile away the hours gazing at the pavement, the fifth horizontal is lined with the merchant houses gleaming with their gold leafed furnishings and rich fabric curtains, along the sixth horizontal are the food markets and restaurants and cafes all spilling out with the rich scents of cooking, and the final street in the city the seventh horizontal is lined with rows of women wearing barely anything, smiling to the men with promises of a good time for 10 bucks an hour...
He takes up 6 watering cans and pours out their contents amongst the hills and peaks of his homeland, watching them weep down the slopes in cascading flows of fresh salt to gather in the valleys and settle calm and still. In the centre of the first he constructs a giant nest of twigs nestled into the water amongst which the water birds may rest, over the second he constructs a maze of bridges that interweave amongst each other a game of hide and seek amongst the paths, above the third he builds a towered perch for two looking out to the setting sun and the twinkling stars mirrored in the ripples, along the edges of the fourth he builds a clustering of houses with gabled roofs and warming fireplaces, from the edges of the fifth he builds out a radial array of piers and jetties at the end of which perch the old fishermen, and rising from the middle of the last, slowly yet rapidly accumulating, are the cold tears of limestone forming a pinnacle of monumental bleakness...
He picks up an empty suitcase and travels to 5 cities across 5 continents, in the first city he fills it with rich furs and fine woven cloths with leather shoes and soft woollen weaves till he can fit no more in it, in the second city he empties his suitcase and fills it instead with all the great books of learning he can find, all the knowledge and wisdom of the world that he can cram inside, in the third city he abandons his books for the exotic fruits and jars of spices that tantalise his nose and the luxurious sweets and finely sculpted meats that are a work of art, by the fourth city his foods have lost their gloss and he fills it with strung beads and flowers, the tokens of love from the women that he meets, by the fifth city he lacks interest in most things and he fills his suitcase with loose earth, sand and pebbles...
He collects up 4 leaves and studies closely their veins, he dabs four drops of blood from his own veins on each and tears them down to their skeletal forms, the first he dips in perfume and sends floating down the stream, the second he dips in sweat and honey and hangs loosely from the railings, the third he dusts in powdered gold and drops it in the fire and the last he dusts in crystal flakes and drops into the sky...
He takes 3 mountains and arrays them along the equilateral lines of a triangle, sculpting their ridges with the loose clay of his memory and setting them aflame till they harden to fine porcelain. Between the first and the second he strings up a bridge of timber slats that sways in the breeze, between the second and the third he constructs an arching bridge of iron laced and spired in delicate silhouettes against the clouds, between the third and the first he ties a single piece of rope drooping loosely towards the ground, and along the first mountain he lays a road stretching at a steep incline from the ground to the bridge, and on the second mountain he winds a road up and around in concentric spirals to the tip of its peaks and down and around to finish at the other bridge, and on the third mountain he drives his fist through with great anger tunnelling straight through it...
He ferrets through the contents of 2 giant chests and sorts them all asunder. Dividing the piles of objects over and over and over again till they become all too jumbled and confused, he splits the ark in half and half again and half and half and half, and when he has too many halves to count he splits them once more into two piles again of skewed limbs and confusion, he splits the earth and sky in two and two and two again and scatters them between the piles, he jumbles up the fire and water and tears them into bits across the piles, for everything he comes across he cuts and skews and scatters till all that is left are two mountainous heaps which he leaves side by side each threatening to topple upon the other, and sitting back he watches them as bit by bit they seek to merge in love and war making love of war and making war of love...
And finally he takes 1 of himself and measures himself out carefully, he draws up the great plans of his anatomy and the structure of his thoughts, rolls and rolls of drafting paper lying scattered at his feet and he calls all the builders he can summon to build him a city that reflects him in perfection and when that city is built and shining in its full splendour he looks about for people to inhabit it but finds none but himself and he looks aghast at his husk of a city, this perfect lifeless mirror of himself. And crying wounded with pain he hammers and burns it down to ashes and it scatters to the wind...
