Upon completion of the installation, Jeff Gabel steps back and revisits the project with a complete transcript of the text, as seen below.
For the full text and bibliography, click here.
South wall, top left (left most corner)
Hey tits, No reason, just car, just drive across the Florida border -no, it won’t look any different but for me, love new current-time references to a past projection of current can’t exist so desires, repressed or not logically can’t exist. "Bud - Bud - hey Bud" :What?" Fuck. Out. Flat, By a (Hain) grove, stand or lean on the car. Sun purple streaks are more past-subjunctive-not realized. "Bud, fuckin too. lets stop. hotel." crossing borders still feels like changing modes or states (physical ones) same as when a kid. Driving alone makes body numb makes horny feeling more closer to hair trigger not quite. hotel. porn, comical shot with rainbow color condom flipped in air slow motion before putting on had to go to can and wax off it took few secs. Don’t tell Bud. Didn’t. Now ok. Not at the time saw in myself pictures of resolution, sympathy a little, empathy so far away. Now my late 40s still empathy missing - so sad or maybe real, not sad. What kind of love they had abstract, Urich and Agathe. "Bud-Bud" "fuck you" "bitch" potato chips. He was afraid of the woman, misquote, he was afraid THAT the woman might. Missing is still. Naipaul must’ve been sexually self conscious about a body part I gather from the bit repeated about the fat jiggling calf, or maybe just lit descriptive? Too skinny narrow shoulders. "Bud." "Lets drunk." Back room. No.