text:message

is the language dissolving into the atmosphere, or regenerating through a mechanism that removes place but expects position?

the deconstruction of the text removes meaning from common power words as they are spoken, broken first into individual components. symbols are separated by space that causes us to expect their connectivity, find it missing then work to connect the parts in hopes of forming a word.

on the floor below the messenger, the monitor on the table, lies a shredded grammar book that is cut into sentence sized pieces. does the dissection of the page on which the small parcels of text lie remove the value of the reconstructed sentence?

what constitutes language, and how can we find it? curiousity finds us within the text, the letters that no longer lie on the page. the text:message is in the air.