courtney love in BLK & WHT
Posted
from NY
just an impression
Stillness in motion.
Cold confronts warmth
Cloud as breath.
Force upon the gentle
A blanket of spears.
Limbs twist and bow
Crying in the night.
Revealing new forms
In soft violence.
Posted
from New York, NY
striking lines : : a woman's journey
against the grain
wheels roll
over damaged black
tarmac
frozen in motion
waiting
in quiet frustrationheels leed legs
feels slow
cracking as they hit
timing
from green to flashing
striking lines
lost in a rhythm
how a memory fades
how a memory fades...
that after taste, the lingering of an impression and its soft focus, in the degradation of a moment truth is revealed. the birth of a memory as the senses are woven together to be stored in a vessel for remembrance. an image, prepared to accept new elements, as colour takes on a kind of aroma one can taste, the atmosphere is infused with the silence of a distant echo, motion implied by gesture, and time irrelevant, it is warm here and familiar, a bridge to the past. all this richness stands ready and willing, to be accessed by triggers, markers we make or learn or stumble upon, ready to breath again, as it does now... the red cloak sings over emerald water, thick like fresh milk, light trying to deny the existence of shadows, those Gondoliers and their familiar exchange... an old friend one sees at a glance in a habitual embrace this welcome haze lifts... how a memory fades.
A narrow focus
(Venice a city that's unsettlingly familiar)
In direct opposition to its chaotic meandering pathways, scattered at random, a system without a formula of open piazzas and twisting gestures, scrambling under porticos and over hump backed brigdes of various heights and sizes, is a rigid but logical grid of canals, an efficient lattice work of waterways that give order to the ebb and flow.
Heading somewhere, somehow, one turns a corner, and a distraction becomes the meaning of the journey, a space between, and the walls, they open up, into corridors of light... pillars born of order and disorder, of logic and the illogical, holding up the rafters of our loftiest dreams... a view with a narrow focus.
