Spoken words can be tricky at x-church, the acoustic scrambles them. Historically priests often preached in Latin and Greek confident that ritual and incense would make more impact than anything they could communicate from the pulpit. It just is difficult to understand words spoken at any distance in the vast open space. We've all had to learn to come close to communicate, no bad thing!
Written words have always been important here. The very name x-church makes people think about what the x means. x abbreviates ex meaning this is an ex-church, a building defined by what it used to be. Accentuating the negative conversely illuminates the world of the positive and all the things that could happen.
'Word Congregation' is a long list of words Marcus has collected over the years. It serves as the diary he regrets never keeping. They are strong words put down as markers but there are also many subtle words at x-church. Look carefully and you will find words cut and scratched into the plaster, wood and brick. Latterly we have encouraged people to write all over the place in chalk.
Writing often features at Salon Slum. Here's a poem by Kevin Ribis:
I'm so light
Then I float
I scratch my head thinking
But I don't know
So I look down
See my bed
Further and further
Am I dead?
Of coarse not
I'm just dreaming
Awake
I think
What is weight
Without limits
What is breath
Without air
So I stand
I don't move
But my head shakes
Blood pulsating in my veins
I close my eyes
And all I see
Are memories
STOP!
I can't
It just happens
I remember too much
Take my brain out and wash it
Run it down some wooden rack
Till it's dry and place it back
In my head
What was said
Should have gone now
But it remains
It was just a thought
It wasn't real
Nobody would survive some brain washing ordeal
So I'm still here
Drowning in glue
My throat shut closed
But air still coming through
That was a thought aswell then
I just thought I stopped breathing there
Did I just forget that I inhaled
Not even realising I exhaled
I'm fixating
How do I stop
Do I want to stop
And if so
What?
I forgot
So I'll just read
No
It's gone
What I read a second ago
I'll read it again
No
It's gone
What did I get?
A bed?
In my head?
Floating away?
Was it there?
I'm still here
Why?
Okay
That's fine
I think again
I want to scream
I do
I'm an imaginative breed
A breeding house for electrical impulses
Chaos theory exerted by my neurons
So it can t be stopped if I'm awake
I'll go to sleep
A naked mind
Fragmented time
What happens next
Will happen again
So I can't stop it
Help me please
I'm all alone
I just want to sleep
But I waste time
In this garden of mine
It's supposed to help me
Through all these times
But it's overgrown
So I'm blind
It can't be cut down
Or blown up with mines
That I trip over
And explode
I'd rather be sleeping
Out of necessity
Then voluntarily
So it's dry
Out of my mind
Shrivelled like left out fruit
Over a month or two
But it's repeated
It can't be stopped
I'm just a passenger
My spaceship boat
Is my bed
And I'm traveling on my own
On a solitary planet I shall go
Like the little prince
Yearning for his rose
Bitter and sour
Is that what I want?
I'm not really sure
So I'll just leave it to rot
And ferment
The land I created
So it can bloom
And spread in my home
Till it burns up
Too close to the sun
The moon
Staring at me
Paranoia
The son of a witch
Bed time stories
Is all they were
But this jungle I m in
Is all I heard
So I chop and tear
So I can walk in
Make a path after me
I , myself and this
Too much is too close
So I'll just write
My fragmented thoughts
In this notepad of mine
Minesweeper
1
4
3
2
5
Damn that was close
Almost too boring to make it bad this time
Whatever
I'm done
Finally
I'm sleeping
So tired it's clear
What I was waiting for when I started writing this fear