le chemin qu’on a peur de se rendre aux

Creating internal conversations.

A performance of dialogue of the moving self with relation to the calm intensity of the affects of urban life.
A silent conversation of reflection in austerity; of torment in unknown; the passages of the mind and their stony mazes; paths which mark no departure and expect no return.

A dark room; silenced by the passivity of the dull soul who wanders grey corridors in search of the neon. A body in space; wild and liberated to express such discontents which mar notions of the progress to destinies of continuity.

The eyes pass; linger and stare; moments of the myth of purity; the camera forms a meek impression; determined and yet silent in its searching; the pace of the body heaves and laments in mild amusement as to the frailties of the weakened souls who still march in worn boots.

Who knows the name of the lingering scent of the sweats of cold nights wondering who might construct the path to the old city which lays fallen; to catch glimpses in the half light of the burning embers which amass to notions of decay.

This is the movement of the absurd; of the hope which holds an iron curtain to a crumbling wall; of strength of frailty.

A body held close to time.

se cacher dans le coin silencieux d’un esprit fatigué. comment la mémoire nous tient serrés et serre dans la forme rapide du déménageur. qui décide notre destin; qui sait cette recherche ? nous marchons par les congés tombés; silencieux et sachant.

~ by beatricejarvis on December 26, 2009.

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