Eight years on.

7 December 2009 § 1 Comment

Orange tinted street lights have taken the place of the moon, highways the position of the constellations, mistaken to be the occult observations of those visiting Iceland for the first time, looking at the sky next to the waterfalls they might tire of, look at how black it is, and how remote are we, way out here in this hired Subaru of ours, headlights on the horizon but there’s no one else to say just how much freedom we have inherited from the ones we’ve left behind, with the malignant ways we have adopted as our own, stolen from the pens of the generation pioneers, let it be, thanks be to you, and me, and the girl in the pub that never smiled, but wait, was that a curl of those lips, please say it was – I’d give up the memories of those mountains, the towns with views as majestic as any heaven you could paint for me, if it was, if she’d just look up for just one moment, I think there’s something to be shared.

Combination coffeeshops and pizzaplace film rental instrument salons, describe for me the library on the field of grass and fabricated land, out there in the sea and yet not as far as we’d like to think, comparing things back to home and me, you and what’s all comfortable, outside cabins and the innocuous creation of the vast unholy, shattering and blistering the dread we’ve all been hiding. It will steal the values you’ve been holding onto for so long, romanticizing poems that were written yesterday, as if time were not an object but an unjust rational fear, lavaflaw philosophies laying down the issued guns and resort instead to the unfound queen, the paperless weight, air-conditioned tigerlust in the eyes of the beholders, the animators, the bright and those unholy, like I said before, they’re not so few, those who will forget faster than they would send condolences or race their machines down dead end roads and seek out the fantastic like the devils they are, the angels they mights seem to be, and certainly once we die, there’s the opportunity to be immortal, right?

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§ One Response to Eight years on.

  • Paul Squires says:

    Brilliant. It races along prose style wise which is of course perfect for the content, hence fusion of form and function, structure and idea. Artistic unity, old fashioned concept, maybe, but it still works and this is a fantastical example, where the words, the logic the images all work together to create a flight of imagination, emotion and thought.

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