It was only a matter of time before disappointment set in. The careful and deliberate binding of acquiescence and let downs. The slow disease of fear and hope settling unevenly like sediment on the ocean floor, smoothed by time's slow force the infinite ebb and flow. I saw the boat sink and said nothing. I heard the plane land and felt nothing. I watched the clay split into tiny pieces, watched it break over and over again and still, did nothing. Take down the letters, photographs, dried leaves pressed in my heaviest books. Remembering who, what, where, when, why and how. Remembering now, there is a vanishing point. Your body lies. Parallel, your arm touches my arm and we are fooled by perspective and the geometry of time. I live in a flight path and every day I hear the distant purr of planes turn into a nearing roar and suddenly, rage loud before fading into quiet once more.
*photo taken in 2001/channel islands NP (santa cruz island), CA
It was only a matter of time before disappointment set in. The careful and deliberate binding of acquiescence and let downs. The slow disease of fear and hope settling unevenly like sediment on the ocean floor, smoothed by time's slow force the infinite ebb and flow. I saw the boat sink and said nothing. I heard the plane land and felt nothing. I watched the clay split into tiny pieces, watched it break over and over again and still, did nothing. Take down the letters, photographs, dried leaves pressed in my heaviest books. Remembering who, what, where, when, why and how. Remembering now, there is a vanishing point. Your body lies. Parallel, your arm touches my arm and we are fooled by perspective and the geometry of time. I live in a flight path and every day I hear the distant purr of planes turn into a nearing roar and suddenly, rage loud before fading into quiet once more.
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