Igor Clark

They sell these bottles in the shop near me. It's a branch of Iceland. Other shops also sell bottles, but I believe that what's printed on the labels on these particular bottles indicates that not only do other shops not sell these specific bottles but also that they do not sell other instances of this specific bottle type. I took this photo of these bottles for a particular reason, I suspect related to these labels on the bottles, but now the reason escapes me. In fact to be more accurate, it is that which was printed on the bottles' labels which prompted me to take the photos which escapes me. Time is fleeting; memory unreliable; continuity nothing more than a stream of moments, and the mythical knowledge of a never-passing instant escapes us all.

I saw this in the street. It was on some steps leading into a building. I photographed it. Now, thanks to the marvel of modern technology, it's actually inside your brain, ricocheting around like a conceptual pinball, firing off reactions, forcing you to think about who drank it, what they were doing, whether they even enjoyed it, why they couldn't find a brown paper bag, what you'd drink if your favourite drink had to be served in such a container, and the like. Fantastico.

Earlier, I was upstairs. It was inside a building that the stairs I was up were in, and I'd been being up them; now I wanted to be down them, but I couldn't be bothered to walk down them, so I caught the lift. I went up to the panel next to the closed lift doors and pressed the button to go down. The lift came, I got inside it and pressed the button which makes the lift go to the ground floor, so that I'd be at the bottom of (or "down") the stairs. It did. I got out. The thing that I had wanted to happen had happened. I made it happen with my mind. I was down the stairs. I choose! I act!