the world narrows downto a mess of straightlines.everything is neat in itsplace. every box is neatlylabelled,tucked away for future reference. in place of a whirlwind,there's a series oflinear progressions.they tell some story,somehow.viewers are never surewhat the story is,but they know it'sthere. and underneath it all,there's someonewatching theprogressions. a whirlwind becomesspatial awareness becomesneat organized lines,and it is conquered.
settling in
the house is quiet,built after several bitter monthsof designing and planning.every feature is carefullycurated, placed to be clever. sometimes, in the evenings,it settles.floorboards creak undera phantom's step;wind whistles through windows thatneed sealing up. winteris on its way,after all. at night, she settles in withbooks and tea,a teapot perched nine preciseinches away. later still,when it's midnight, …
symbiosis
remember the time you promised eternal creativity?
circuitous
The letter skims through the slot in the door, drifts to the ground with barely a whisper. It'll stay there all day, and easily for the rest of the night; its intended recipient is out, working late and then going on out to dinner. This is where things have come to: letters sent from a …
the mirror
there's a girl in the mirror.
caught
Here we are. We are a moment trapped in time, a dream given life. (The dream has yet to become reality.) This is a standoff, not yet the battle of wills it could be, and we are a developing memory. The world moves on around us, taking us with it.
revolution
pace the pavement, punctually tired.
the fallacy
act, and try to convince yourself.
tracing paper
the sketchbook is splayed across the table, thin gauzy papers stacked in a bundle several inches tall.
lucky thirteen
let's hit the road. (you never say it, but we go anyway)
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