Sunday 5 April 2015

Journal # 04.05.15

The curious case of a furious pace we establish over the mean dream of time. The still life was painted all around me. I was a blur. A gif instead of an image anymore. Do you see me clearly? What I mean is what you mean to me. Yes I find myself blasting the walls with forgetfulness. Whitewashing the pain. The photos of my family getting old and unimaginable. The dust settling. In a time exposure it collects like snow. That mean dream of time. I want you all to stay still for a moment, can you, while I inhale you? Drive through and discard the materials. Take the Home and leave the Depot. Inhale me. Leave me with your days of heartfelt laughter, nights of lonely pain. Do not worry. Together we will walk the tracks. Then momma rings the bell and calls us home. I will see you clearly through windexed windows but we cannot touch through the glass. There will be white gloves today, and soft hands. Church-like.
katya by katya '15

Underneath the facades the fingers with fingerprints hold the history of all our lives. The indelible mark the world has made on you and me. Watch me close as I play a song out of my tummy on my breath, and call the fingerprint up like a cobra, unraveling and floating into the air. Then we will wrap it like ink into a sleeve around our arms and be amazed. You are much more than you ever intended. Blow up your french pressed purposes and back to the source. The single origin flat whites in the whistling sand of the Sahara. The white cottons will protect and camouflage us from the drones delivering x and y boxes to the consumers. This is not our business. We are on pilgrimage by the path of our black and blueprints. Many days together, all alone, in the open space of many flavored silences. The nuances will delight us. The flood is coming. It comes from within. Do not distract away from your own birth rights. The pain is only immediate, flashing. The redemption is outside the club. In the cool night air. Passing the smokers remanded to their habit, hugging the walls, friends for life. I talked to them. I was a blur. I chased my fingerprint without demur. The dream become reality. A furious pace. A curious case.

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