A benign presence behind me. A wall, unlistening, unyielding, uncaring, but solidly present. Over 15 years, I came to realise that the moments when I had nothing to say, when I was still, were the moments of truth.
Nothing to say, nothing to prove, nothing to fear.
The silence was around me. The wall, was no more than a choice. I moved my eyes to a horizon.
I took a step, I was gone. These words are beyond me, they belong to the wall, this page, the moment.
When, I am present, I wait for my distraction to leave, to be absent, to make this present, for you.
The silence was around me. The wall, was no more than a choice. I moved my eyes to a horizon.
I took a step, I was gone. These words are beyond me, they belong to the wall, this page, the moment.
When, I am present, I wait for my distraction to leave, to be absent, to make this present, for you.
These words are not mine, they are not yours, they come from beyond a wall.
Who cares to follow these lines, does so at his own pace, at his own risk.
The owner of this page takes no responsibility for any (be)longings which should go missing...
A wall punctuates your silence.
Be still.
Who cares to follow these lines, does so at his own pace, at his own risk.
The owner of this page takes no responsibility for any (be)longings which should go missing...
A wall punctuates your silence.
Be still.
this makes me think of all the art that at first glance seems kind of meaningless - Cy Twombly and Yves Klein - but then on consideration becomes so meaningful - both the scribbles and stains and the gaps between. I was reading the cartoonist Lynda Barry the other day and she was showing little cross-hatched marks and said that these were the places where she was biding time, waiting for meaning... thanks for this. Be still indeed :)
ReplyDeleteThank you Aaron. I am still here and that matters.
ReplyDeleteKevinHodgson: retweeted this.
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Profound in the context of where we are and where we have been, it really resonated thank you
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