Double-ended doorways, footpaths, coup de la langue
Stumbling, jaded over numerous canals and strangley-twisting paths. Under no direction. Aimless. Just drifting through concrete, really. Cringe. Shudder. This idea of: Return has not ceased to haunt me and ilicit a different measure of signification. I'd say a weekend of complete weightlessness might assist. This sliding and hacking off of certain twigs, mere thorns in the smothness and flow of things. Working on it still, I am. Afternoon, smoking with some Germans on a bench in Amsterdam on the last day of February. Conversations with complete and imperfect strangers until 4. Twittering, splintering, dancing. Never quite sure of the language, the country, the history, the looping of tradtions, the order of things. Yet still gleefully kindling the uncanny in the heart of all things manifest. Inject beauty into the world.
Thus far, 2009 has been a complete malestrom. Perhaps March will bring comprehensibility and something viable along with the breaking of winter and the rebirth of warmth. Two weeks of vacation in February is certainly interesting.
Thus far, 2009 has been a complete malestrom. Perhaps March will bring comprehensibility and something viable along with the breaking of winter and the rebirth of warmth. Two weeks of vacation in February is certainly interesting.