studere ad a ratione.

passing moments

The city is left behind but it lingers and haunts; memory of sensation of interaction, of the sensation of mass. The body collects and gathers and stores. Remembers and archives. Small motions of sensation which rise and fall with the passing of breath.

To depart. To fall. To roll. To lumber. To sweep. To cleanse. To run.

To not stop running until the grey has faded to black and emerged again as white.

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on memory. on space. on change. on falling. on rising. on searching. on seeking. on ruins. on beauty.

the taste of salted decay. Bottles of holy water collected in the rain and stored in plastic tubes in old wood.

on spaces which contain us and the walls we create and the walls we destroy. on fragments. The boundaries of the mind are quite limitless. The Froth on the Daydream. The badger. The nest. The home. The spaces which we cannot mark.

Beidh ceocháin ama pas againn go bog. Beidh an scamaill timpeall orainn i bhfoirm éigin de bliss gan mhíniú

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quod formae quae sunt in animo fortitudinis crescat.

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Extrema terræ. Forma declinet. Spatium certamen.

spatial flux

The cycles of emotion match the cycles of the weather as the pink flowers fade. No one lives in the lighthouse now. To carry a tree.

The weight of a footstep. The sound of a falling tree. The tree that returned to the sea. The lady of the sea who sails in a paper boat is not forgotten on the morning tide.

scene

she waits

She collects jewels in her skirts as the light fades and the rain comes and sinks her boat. Seaweed tendrils fall about her sunken eyes.

Precious gems of the near grotesque.

ar an meáchan a bheith

a chruthú fhoirm

When the human form ascends the texture of emotion. The body leaves the sentiment of earthly connection behind

 A pause for the space, which is granted no air.

 There is  purpose beyond that which we control .

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The mourning of the loss of tradition. The craftsman sits in an empty space. Perhaps his tools are rusted and his hands now too soft with hand cream. The day passes too fast. The hands of the clock lament to themselves the hours which have passed under their careless watch. The weight of knots; the colours of black, white and gold make up a scene of a dinner party at which everyone is asleep and places their heads in their bowls of ostrich soup. The craftsman looks on; imagining to carve his own hands in the resentment of such cold.

in loss

videtur autem quibusdam phantasia. Carne et ossibus. Quaecumque tamen est tranquillitas.

pause

Successu temporis in manus divisi accumultated rectis.
Mollis mollis ante faciem incisuras. In risus et tristis.

Quae prodit in lucem et lucem in faciem cupit emendare aeris.

 

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~ by beatricejarvis on January 13, 2014.

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