On many occasions I have tried to find the moment of ‘solitude’ that directors write into desolate scenes. Believing that we are all thoroughly interconnected, I have found it utterly impossible to feel alone, however, or even marginally dissatisfied in the company of strangers. Thoughts inspired by Marx and Hegels documents on art and being as a social entity.
When we step out to the shore, on the hillside, or by a river, there is nothing we can hide from nature. Our own is revealed, we embrace the concealed, and open our chest to draw ourselves in.
A moment of self-awareness captured through an intentionally monochrome description of love. Though this write sets itself within a romantic frame, the leitmotif relates to the movement of our independent minds over time, as we learn to settle into ourselves and come to trust when it is truly time for change.
Deciphering the heart: distinguishing between fairytales and futures.
We take one hand, whilst letting go of another. How do we deal with the internal conflicts arising from these matters of the heart?
Moral questioning: on the battle of guilt and forgiveness of the self.
Becoming every colour can leave us gray, when the lights go down
An indulgent slur of exasperated egoism and every day self-inflation/deflation which I will probably edit forever
Are these clothes the colour of my insides? Are yours?
We seek the sight of others; a vision of their corporeal being, manifested within their music/their letters/their circles. Flora and I make shapes out of all of our insides and arrive, sometimes, at something synonymous – but never symmetrical. This is the first time that we have aligned our work, and we hope that you love it too! Thank you for reading and listening; for watching the spirals sing with us.
We wander away and wind up, with hope, submerged in a mirror spirit.
The slopes that rise and fall With our breath between them Are a sihloutte of green hips On the horizon: Suspended across the skies In an effortless sprawl, They are wild thighs To the wondering mind As a pen is to paper The incarnation of daydreams.
Originally posted on Creative Mine:
I tell ya, after 37 years on the force, you think nothing can really surprise you anymore. You start getting comfortable in your desk chair, waiting for the next call to come in. Couple homicides before lunch. Enjoy a minestrone while catching up on the news for an hour. Maybe…
We pepper our words for the common feast
Originally posted on Allison's Blog:
When I write anything I publish, I like to envision us in a boat, on a smooth luscious river where it’s velvety and steady, or seated together where I’m using decadent thick paint to tell a story in multiple colours, affecting textures across a canvas. But today, my quill…
Did you ever take a breath to inhale the harmony of 200 hearts in transit, beating between old-beninngings and new-ends?
Matter born of mind is never strictly unnatural
