Tom Beckett

My Limitations It’s scary to always be face to face with your own endless limitations I, or someone else, could write an entire book about. Masha Tupitsyn, Beauty Talk & Monsters (184)
Limitation is mostly imitation. My endless l(imitations)/(l)imitations. My wan perimeters, nesting frames. Where do you and I begin and end? The drama, the mess of self and other, the mess of eros. I’m convinced that when I touch myself I’m touching someone else. Are you? Room for Shifts or Which to At every Form nude Drawings pencil I can’t recall a time in which I didn’t see (set?) limits for myself, within myself. Even if I’ve shakily tried to act otherwise. What am I doing? Another screen Between partitions Beyond this Depicted by The presence Of association When I was a child, the father who told me what I couldn’t do, couldn’t be. My father. Nesting frames. Strangely phenomenal The paper Becomes empty Dramas which (dis)Locate perception And weather Where am I? Located, I guess, somewhere between things. Both res cogitans and others. In the mix of messes and misdirected messages. Other forms Of aim Concentrate apparent Lack between Against relationship Of anecdote Where one comes from and the choices one makes. Scarcity and conspiracy theories, say. Am I afraid of my shadow? Absolutely. David Bromige wrote that “Terror is mostly error.” The beauty of the world is wrapped in confusion and noise. Between against Relationship assemblages Leaking aromas Order forms Around any Particular scene The limits of my language. The ever-changing limits of what I understand. The limits of pronouns. My imperfect body and body of thought. Tension figures Process swimming Wan perimeters Crayon desires Thinking buttocks Contour emphasis Limit-states. Conditions of potential failure. Lines interrupt Social demands Move to Choose to Rather than Avoid contamination My uncontrolled body/body of thought. My confusion of activity and passivity. My never quite wrangled desires. An enormous Fragility (p)Reoccupies Swollen overtones Sudden autobiographies Unpunctuating arias Disarticulating surfaces I’ve written vanishing points, written forgetting, written appearances, written zombies, written fever dreams, written questions, am being written, overwritten and unwritten. Pictures assemble Hems of Thermometer resemblance Glued to Gather silhouette Subsequent screens There is always movement I’m not part of, things I cannot see, hear, be touched by or experience. Hence, yearning and occasional despair. The relation to a limit is a question. A question is a hook (in all senses). Tattered parallels Juxtapose folds Soundholes touch Spinning items Bent outtake Structures loop Father is nearly falter. Falter is mostly alter. An altar is something else entirely. Falls happen. Also of Balanced on Still lifes Covered in Whatever comes In series Masha Tupitsyn: “Boris Karloff was in between masks all the time and so are a host of other monsters, I discovered.” (210) Breaking down Overlaps simultaneous Shapes in Static characters Propositions assumed Under melodies Masks have taken on different resonances during the pandemic. Often monsters aren’t wearing them. It’s hard to be ruthless with oneself. Prepositions assumed under disharmonies. Thinking on To another Mannequin retitles Borrowed overwriting More rigid Sandpaper templates Masked and unmasked cognitive dissonance, gender dysphoria, overexcited or jammed sexual circuitry — my things, feelings, thoughts rubbing or being rubbed the wrong way. My outer and inner limits on display. Occasion surfaces No doubt A book Of poetry Affixing sequins To rhythm Sequence, sparkle, rhythm. Understanding objects Translate flirtation Mutating restraints Transitional pictures Force phonetic Effects of My deep love of puns and polysemy. My sense of the braidedness of poetry, sexuality, comedy and philosophy. My life as a piece worker in the semantic field. Bothered enthusiasms Case textures Damp dresses Entertain pronouns Removing portions Of space I am the sum of my responses and my failures to respond. Out of Remained there At the Only with Lent depth And stain Hide-and-seek. I am not it, not it. No one’s going to find me. Did you look at me? You can’t see me. I hope you can’t see me. I want to be seen. Confirmed by Monotone reminiscences Interpenetrating planes Differentiate colors As from Each filtered I have a poor sense of direction. I can get lost anywhere. Nonobjective blue Habitué discussions Touch suffocating Art songs Some folded Curtain dissolves Charles Bernstein has called my work bathetic. I used to take daily baths, now can’t. I wonder what would constitute a bath ethics. An air Motif of But again To put On one In all Fear of what I am, am not, might never be might register at any given time. Likewise warped Style points Add world And others Tender joystick Occasional interruptions Punctuation situates the structures of my unease. A lot of u’s in that last sentence! Is repeated Body within A place Next to Over there By photographs So, yeah, mixed feelings about punctuation and other approved fastening devices. Realm of Fasten to Own pronoun Like nothing Face to Knotted up I’m unsure what to show here or what might show up below extended under to support or unfold. Work aroused Must define Step into Or shifting As sharing Skin view What one’s muscles remember or have forgotten. One’s very tissues imprisoned by memories? Art falls Or slips Against space Set aside In fact This is What I come back to time and again are second thoughts, after thoughts, the shadows and ghosts of experience. Separated from Intimacy questions Figures stretch To which Of such Blotted out I often seem to be looking for something I can’t find. Are glued To beginning Drawings of Which the Surrounded by Form from I believe that the present is perfumed by the past we collectively exude — a glandular symphony (the Anthropocene). Words without Noise not Unrelated to An infatuation With loosely Tied knots The persistent sense of being inside of a diminishing circle. Itself is Beside attraction Over holes Arranged tendencies Toothed wheels Turn to I want to be touched. The question is: can I be touched by you? Coloring in Exposures mirror Curtain vignettes Piling objects Blotting smeared Wan perimeters

Tom Beckett lives and writes in Kent, Ohio.

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