If we build it they will play

My house is made of sheet.

Bethany's house is made of cloud.

This keeps us going the right direction.

Coins In the Bean Jar

The Gallery is getting better, Bethany keeps talking to herself, telling herself to go to bed. I am tuned into the stories on This American Lift. (ha! Life) The door is so beautiful.

There are sheets stretched between the trees. It's 3:51.
If I have time
I'll keep coins in a bean jar.


CC

P.s> am tucked into fort. Ready to sleep a little while

Places to Go to Bed.

1.

This is a nice place to go to bed. It's walls are thin, but comfortingly pink, and the ceiling only reaches about 4.5 ft high which cozies the ambiance. There is a lamp. The pillows blankets and sleeping bags make the cold hard gallery floor into a lumpy, soft and warm floor.

2.

This attractive fort/tent situation can usually be found in once abandoned buildings now being converted into something else. This particular fort was surrounded by giant chunks of missing floor, dust, and strange items. But within its walls one finds the contents normally reserved for the insides of houses. A very good place to sleep.

PROPAGANDA of My Friends!

My friends will be found this Friday in the John Sommers gallery --the subject of posters with Propagandish tendancies. I can't wait.

On pillows, in the fort.

ASLEEP IN THE GALLERY THIS MORNING, I HAD THIS DREAM. CLICK ON THIS TEXT.

Hoboculous Twinius Galerius

To further the purposes of living in buildings that are not your house Bethany and I are building forts inside of a gallery.

My first fort is complete. It is in the south corner of the room, cloth walls strung up with yarn and nails. There is a blanket covering the tiles of the gallery and my sleeping bag is sitting by the lamp. Sarah Daegling, are you reading this?
-sheets and lamps in galleries forever!!!


Bethany constructs a fort in the North corner of our new home. She's stapled a tarp to the wall and is taking measurements for cardboard.


We are a new species: Hoboculous Twinius Galerius: The conjoined unit, now homeless entity, building it's tents in a gallery.



They gave us special permission to sleep in the gallery for two nights, but lock the doors to the rest of the building so the homeless won't come in. This means that only one of us may leave the building at a time, and the other must stay within. In order to pursue our shared purpose of art-making we must operate now as two parts of one being: each dependant on the other: the twinius.

Being this collective-animal we lose our separateness: time and space we could take as an individual functioner is unavailable to those who must operate within a certain radius of each other. Therefore the houses we call "home" cease to be places we can abide at this moment in time, we become homeless or, hoboculous.

Finally, our particular state of hoboculom twiniism only fully exists because of the conditions of this gallery which is why we belong to the particular genus of Galerius.