The Codebuco Files

The Compagnia dell’Imbuto Confuso is performing “Becoming Anselmo / The right tool” What matters is the right tool. Once the right tool is in hand, everything else follows— as if on its own. The half-rounded vault is built of brick. Behind one of the bricks, I’ve hidden my papers. I see myself carefully loosening the brick, then pulling it free— the one I had first chipped loose with a small, poin...

The Compagnia dell’Imbuto Confuso is performing “Becoming Anselmo / Defend Myself” I cannot defend myself against what happens at the same time— her cry, her bending forward, letting herself fall— as I open the door at the end of the narrow corridor, formed by the gap between the right-hand wall (as seen from the floor-to-ceiling shop window) and the long side of the counter, leading into the diml...

Had it not happenedthat I turned to the side,the bullet would have piercedthe back of my head. I close the door behind Greta. The cauliflower wrapped in newspaper under her arm, she waves to me. Her cauliflower-styled hair, pinned high, wavers. I turn the key in the lock,flip the small cardboard signso that the side reading be right back faces outward,the word open now turned in. Had it not happen...

I follow how the bands of light unfold, how the dust dances across the bands of light. Sometimes I start. I see myself start. For a moment I close my eyes. The darkness behind my eyelids, in which the outer forms appear in their reversal, is not the place from which I see myself. I am standing behind the counter. I am wearing a white apron. I see how I smooth out the folds, with a quick movement a...

Leaning over me,she brushes her cauliflower curlsacross my chest. Movement itself—imagined from one point to another,the arbitrary surfacing and vanishingof the coordinates it brings into being—is no intermezzo, but rather the everyday form of generation and of bearing witness. Leaning over me,she brushes her cauliflower curlsacross my chest. I see the back of her head,her body,as she crouches bef...

I see myself lying beside her. I see myself lying on top of her. I see how she parts her lips, then closes them again. The sounds she makes—I cannot hear them. The half-light swallows her in an instant. If we were walking side by side through the streets, in Vienna or Venice, I could hear that she is sitting beside me, that the silence—the one that followed the sequence of her rising, the rustle,...

She used to wear her hair down. She smiles at me. I see myself smiling back. A back-and-forth kind of smile,lasting several secondswhich triggered a tension in me, a kind of freezing. Unconsciously, I held my breath. I see myself turning toward the customer who has just entered, balancing a large cauliflower on one hand, while with the other she closes the door behind her—then immediately grasps t...

I follow how the strips of light unfold, how the dust dances above them. Sometimes I flinch. I see myself backing up. For a moment, I close my eyes. The darkness behind my eyelids, where outer forms appear in reverse, is not the place from which I see myself. I am standing behind the counter... This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonu...