A mahogany door stands frameless, unwed to any wall. An absent smoke machine funnels clouds around it and toward the viewer.
It falls, the ground cracks. The lens cracks. Fog enters.
Or more precisely, print the image of the legend. Das ding embracing toward memory. Print the memory you mean to convey.
Borges calls upon the writer to print the memories left behind by their books, the intended message wrapped in a metaphor. A donkey on a piano, nudes, the eye cut by Bunuel. Read More…
On September 8th, I will embark on a trip that will directly affect this blogspace. I will leave Charlotte-Douglass Airport and arrive in Osaka, Japan two days later. Through Antioch University’s ‘Japan and Its Buddhist Traditions’ program I will live and study in Kyoto for three months. Read More…
You were wrong. I do understand. I understand that there is nothing to understand.
Remain a lecherous philistine. Uphold that facade of superiority, of dominance. Its the only tool you’ve got.
You are fated to act as you have. Your inconsistency highlights your inability to coordinate a path around this fact. Scorn and hatred when applied everywhere and always is just one way out. Any other constant response to the order of things remains just as valid.
I may be young, I may enjoy different modes of being than you. But this entails nothing.