After the amazing image of the last star begging not to be alone, the willows' longing for the missing tangibles gives shape to the invisible. Air becomes breath. We become real.
We are gatecrashers. We, all of us, knowingly and unknowingly, have crashed through the limits of the world that held us. I imagine some of us just join the party we did not know we were coming to, start dancing, say Hi, but some of us don't get the chance: some are thrown out to wilderness, some tossed to the black hole. Some will search endlessly for the flowers, following trails of scent, some drown, some will let their tears fill the waters. May you be a dancer, and write always.
Sometimes, it is frightening to be a member of the audience, to be asked to explain our private experience of some work of art, such as this one. It isn't merely a matter of stage-fright. There is the fear of being wrong, or of revealing something intimate about oneself, or of having an identity-crisis if everyone says, "Nope!" ... What I imagine is that this is about climate change, and something else -the dead lands are where industrial smog has become the sky, which doesn't rain. The something else: fear rose from our bodies as the sky pressed down on us, internal bleeding, suffocating, waves breaking, and a body becomes broken. That is ... about ... rape. It's an extended, and mixed metaphor. The oceans, due to The Greenhouse Effect, shall "sink" islands, and, metaphorically, flowers will "drown."
Thank you, Charles. Can I quote this in my follow up to this newsletter? It can be anonymous if you prefer, though since you already wrote a public comment you may not care!
Thank you! I love your writing. Though, this one is painful to me. I probably misinterpreted everything. But, yes. I don't mind if you quote this. And, it does not need to be anonymous.
I could read this stream of consciousness for the rest of my life. Thank you for being you. You give us gifts that heal our souls.
Thank you Kathy!
After the amazing image of the last star begging not to be alone, the willows' longing for the missing tangibles gives shape to the invisible. Air becomes breath. We become real.
Thank you, Lola.
We are gatecrashers. We, all of us, knowingly and unknowingly, have crashed through the limits of the world that held us. I imagine some of us just join the party we did not know we were coming to, start dancing, say Hi, but some of us don't get the chance: some are thrown out to wilderness, some tossed to the black hole. Some will search endlessly for the flowers, following trails of scent, some drown, some will let their tears fill the waters. May you be a dancer, and write always.
Sometimes, it is frightening to be a member of the audience, to be asked to explain our private experience of some work of art, such as this one. It isn't merely a matter of stage-fright. There is the fear of being wrong, or of revealing something intimate about oneself, or of having an identity-crisis if everyone says, "Nope!" ... What I imagine is that this is about climate change, and something else -the dead lands are where industrial smog has become the sky, which doesn't rain. The something else: fear rose from our bodies as the sky pressed down on us, internal bleeding, suffocating, waves breaking, and a body becomes broken. That is ... about ... rape. It's an extended, and mixed metaphor. The oceans, due to The Greenhouse Effect, shall "sink" islands, and, metaphorically, flowers will "drown."
Thank you, Charles. Can I quote this in my follow up to this newsletter? It can be anonymous if you prefer, though since you already wrote a public comment you may not care!
Thank you! I love your writing. Though, this one is painful to me. I probably misinterpreted everything. But, yes. I don't mind if you quote this. And, it does not need to be anonymous.