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Post by serena on Jun 26, 2014 15:06:57 GMT 8
The idea drifts further and further away
unplanting
becomes a continual process
one by one
articles are collected and discarded
a jumble of objects, each with a purpose
not yet defined
carry it as if it was the last paper on earth
If I am to continue I must chose a place I havent been yet
walk
without knowing the direction
joining unrelated points
as if they were meant to be together
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Post by ashroseberry on Jun 30, 2014 21:40:45 GMT 8
The nostalgia, the yearning.
A bittersweet process.
An addiction.
The grief for the lost places of your past.
The longing for a time, that perhaps no longer exists...
That perhaps never existed.
Did I dream you up, Home?
"Don't stop searching till you've found where you fit" she tells me, this lady of the world.
If I am to continue, I must choose a pace I haven't traveled at yet.
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Post by tarryn on Jul 1, 2014 2:27:47 GMT 8
Maps are good.
Direction is good.
Pick a point, a y or a x
Make it your goal and move in its direction.
Participation and action and projection.
Direction is good
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Post by Admin on Jul 1, 2014 3:23:49 GMT 8
one by one they drifts,
beyond a point of connection
joining together
these jumbled parts
Each with a purposed
not yet defined nor denied
It's process, continual
Carry on
without direction
only with the faint trail of what has been.
Arrive at a point.
Unrelated.
Related.
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Post by daisysanders on Jul 1, 2014 16:57:32 GMT 8
Carry it, as if it is the last paper on earth.
Be nourished as if you will never eat again.
Know a simple weed is the most beautiful bloom you have witnessed.
Bask in what comes as if the warmth is what feeds you.
Ask and ask and search and search and forgive and forgive and arrange and unravel.
Be jumbled, be defined, be knowing, be unknown, be wild, be trusting
and certainly just be.
Be.
As if you were meant to be together.
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Post by Jacq on Jul 3, 2014 18:49:43 GMT 8
Eyes open, lost in unfamiliar surroundings, objects in passing with character of their own place and shape the landscape, drawing me to points of consideration.
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Post by isabellamay on Jul 7, 2014 20:30:00 GMT 8
i collect and collect and collect
and pack and pack and pack
to always be searching, wandering, wandering with great purpose and sense
i don't know where i'm going, do you?
i don't know if i'll need all this stuff but i like it. i want it.
who's to say i won't need it
comforted by my many bits and pieces in a place where i don't know what comfort is
i'm not sitting comfortably, there is no comfortable seat here
so i will stand and hold my many things. you can look at them, no problem
i'm going forwards. are you coming. No YOUR backwards not me. i just go the round about way but to me this is the straight way.
i can't go it any other way because i don't know where i'm going but i know i'm going in the right direction and soon all these bits will make sense. If they don't, no loss. They've kept me company.
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Post by michelle on Jul 19, 2014 20:02:08 GMT 8
Contents of the pockets that are the last pockets on earth:
A bobby pin,
a gold earring backing,
two faded receipts for unknown purchases,
Shrapnel of a tissue that's been through the wash
The wearer of the pockets is framed by red desert.
The tiny inventory unrecognisable now.
In the sands, every place is a new place.
Grains of continuity are so small, so unrecognisable along this journey.
The new transaction has no meaning.
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