I saw a line of people moving the same. I focused my eyes down to my own hands.
I saw ropes, strings of thick rotting wool grinding against my fingers manipulating those i've met to move according to my plan. For a long time I thought something was wrong, as if there was a chip missing inside, the most useful piece of the human mind. But as I took a second glance through the wounds and past the rope it dawned on me that this was not my original plan. For the strings continued to dance behind me and wrap themselves around the wrists of another and this was their original plan. To construct a pattern of movement by simply placing fabric in the hands of another.
Photo Credit: Maya Deren and Marcel Duchamp, the Witch's cradle, 1943
