A Word For Bad Weather
Silent things are not for conquering
Category: In Reflection
II. Passing Tracks
Premise: we are thriving off the lives that criss-cross around us, leaving paper trails.
Sea Salt
Sense is the seeing, believing, the touching, tasting, the being
Green Hips
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.
Salt Tongue
We pepper our words for the common feast
Stems // Skylines
Matter born of mind is never strictly unnatural
A Letter To Loneliness
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.
