Candy for Chaos
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The Poem
Candy for Chaos
Gursky sold a photographof layers of earthfor four million dollars.I thought about thisfor years —why.
What is itabout the row,the layer,the endless repetitionof ordinary thingsarranged so preciselythat the arrangementbecomes the argumentand the argumentis:
look at what we made.Look at how much of it.Look at the rowgoing left to rightuntil the rowis not a rowbut a condition,not a storebut a civilization,not candybut everythingwe decidedto wantat the same price,all of it,equally available,equally forgettable,equallyours.
Then Harry Styleson the cover of Vogue.In a dress.And I stopped.
Not because it was wrong —because it was so completely rightthat everythingI thought I was certain aboutquietlyrearranged itselfwithout asking permissionand I stood therein the stopped momentlooking at the coverthe way you lookat the thingthat makes the chaosmake sense —
The one thing that is not the row
the candy in the chaos,the one thingin the endless rowthat is not the row,the butterflyin the stock exchange,the open roadbehind the fashion showbehind the 99 cent storebehind the layers of earththat someone looked atand said:this is worthfour million dollarsof attention.They were right.
The butterfliesmove through everything.Through the trading floorwhere paper fallslike a different kind of confetti,through the fashion showwhere the colors movein their own parade,through the candy rowat the bottomwhere the old man sitsamong the sugarwith the specific stillnessof someonewho has stoppedtrying to understandthe chaosand is simplyin it,present,unwrapped.
The butterfly in the stock exchange
The butterflydoesn’t knowabout the chaos.The butterflyis just movingthrough itthe way beautiful thingsmove through everything —without askingif this is a good time,without waitingfor the rowto end.
Behind all of itthe open road.The green and goldof the landscapethat was herebefore the row,before the fashion show,before the trading floor,before the candy,before the four million dollarsworth of earth —the roadthat goes somewherethat is not this,that has no row,no price tag,no endless repetitionof the thingnext to the thingnext to the thing —just the road,just the distance,just the specific freedomof the horizonthat keeps movingas you move toward itwhich is eitherfrustratingor the whole pointdepending onwhether you came hereto arriveor to drive.
The candy in the chaosis the momentthat stops you.Harry Stylesin a dress.Gursky’s earthfor four million.The butterflyon the trading floor.The open roadbehind everythingthat is tryingto sell yousomething.
The momentthat makes you put downthe candy,step back from the row,feel the chaossettle into perspective —and understandthat the rowis not the world,that the price tagis not the value,that the dressis just a dressand alsoeverything,
and the road
is always there,
behind all of it,
going somewhere
the row can’t follow.