This has been one of those weeks when the life of the mind overtakes me. It plays tricks on me as I wait for a sign, a moment, an act. Perhaps that is the problem: my mind has been focussed on that action, that is to say: future plans - tan any present project. That is apart from the usual blindly sentimental process of perpetuating life: maintaining my physical presence- keeping it one step away from total disrepair. I look out beyond the aching plains towards the roar of the ocean contemplating the depth of the waters. It has a terrifying and yet calming effect. I continue blindly asking myself how to move forth. What direction for this next wave of passion (?) Perhaps my body's rhythms are directing my mind's thoughts yet again chained to something inexplicably base and yet vital. You've heard it before. The view to the horizon line unblocked by buildings untarnished by memory. Will I be left here to sort out all the pieces I tried to put away? Spots of memory I have yet to understand - yet to - but it all takes time.
It always began with a view - an attempt to evoke a particular mood more than anything else. The silence that unfolds and slowly kills me - on one level conversation is good so long as it is productive - criticism has its place so long as these designs maintain their original shape. If only: we create rhythm to protect ourselves to span across the desolate nights protected by nothing but the promise of a new hopeful sound.
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