JEAN-CLAUDE AND CHRISTO.
It's officially my birthday, and birthdays lend a person a certain voice, or a certain kind of ancient wisdom - - and the lucky ones seek to release it on these days. And here, I'll speak it. Your name could be any one word, or as many as you'd like. I am every word, and the winter is a dark wing. Behind it, we'll find departure. Lift-off. I'm throwing colorful stones down a bottomless well. To watch them "plunk" in a dark lake, and delight in them falling forever. You'll die inside a book, and learn to kill it. Learn to bend with it. And beyond all these walls of water, a crystal, an infant sun is warming, to rise above it all. To gather every misplaced piece of sunken moon. I tore off your head for you in a dream, to prove I could do it. And it was in that moment that the poison died, and became my medicine. Pyramid Earth.
2 x 11 = a solution.