1. A young boy sat at the kitchen table eating a plate of eggs. He would take one small piece of the yellow stuff and gnaw on it for a good five minutes, while talking about the colors that moved him. There was something crucial about this. In his failure to finish his breakfast, I saw a symmetry in the ongoing reflection of time. There was an entire journey had in the passing of a spare moment. And then again, there was a wasted life in the dismissal of a second. 2. The collective gathering of clothes, was incredibly easy. Material objects weren’t something I owned, when adjusting to live out of a suitcase. Likewise, I was taught something about minimalism and the poetry of sinking my head in the soil. I realized my mind was all I ever needed. That and the love of music. 3. The photograph of the lad who makes magic, was the atmospheric honey of the diseased parts of all else. It softened the wounded aftermath of silence and carried with it, a sort of dynamic world that worked as something visual. In my head, I played with the dark shadows. I let myself touch parts of that image. I replaced fingers with lips and let my tongue paddle the thin layering of a hip bone. This was as he would want it. The static would die in our love. 4. On the train, a mindless quiet was reached. In the people and faces met, there was the ghost again. The darkened hinges of productivity, came clawing out, due to instability. It’s always this way, it seems. When the fire is at its worse, there is the burn that reels out the infestation of art. Pain sells quick. 5. Gillian sang about “fucking out of sight”. Tears were had and documented. This was done in order to show vulnerability. This was done so that I might remember that it all gets better. This was done because I always cry. Click for high-res image

1. A young boy sat at the kitchen table eating a plate of eggs. He would take one small piece of the yellow stuff and gnaw on it for a good five minutes, while talking about the colors that moved him. There was something crucial about this. In his failure to finish his breakfast, I saw a symmetry in the ongoing reflection of time. There was an entire journey had in the passing of a spare moment. And then again, there was a wasted life in the dismissal of a second.

2. The collective gathering of clothes, was incredibly easy. Material objects weren’t something I owned, when adjusting to live out of a suitcase. Likewise, I was taught something about minimalism and the poetry of sinking my head in the soil. I realized my mind was all I ever needed. That and the love of music.

3. The photograph of the lad who makes magic, was the atmospheric honey of the diseased parts of all else. It softened the wounded aftermath of silence and carried with it, a sort of dynamic world that worked as something visual. In my head, I played with the dark shadows. I let myself touch parts of that image. I replaced fingers with lips and let my tongue paddle the thin layering of a hip bone. This was as he would want it. The static would die in our love.

4. On the train, a mindless quiet was reached. In the people and faces met, there was the ghost again. The darkened hinges of productivity, came clawing out, due to instability. It’s always this way, it seems. When the fire is at its worse, there is the burn that reels out the infestation of art. Pain sells quick.

5. Gillian sang about “fucking out of sight”. Tears were had and documented. This was done in order to show vulnerability. This was done so that I might remember that it all gets better. This was done because I always cry.

Posted on December 4, 2011 at 1:35am with 8 notes

Post Notes

  1. insomniagirl posted this