Why would time ever let you think? It only lets you forget - a convenience in social interaction. Those poor sob stories who remember those actions of passer-bys, those lives that are worth nothing and mean even less, upset those poor sobs with memories. If they could just forget about them it wouldn't be a problem. Because time doesn't need to catch up with anyone; time is ahead of us all, and most are too tired to bother running toward it. So they run the other way. What they find on the other track is that time never cared so much about them, that it never mattered what you thought you were doing to avoid it. It sat above you like a great big cow with the ability to fly, just waiting to lay a pat on your had, and say thanks so much for waiting around, i needed to get that off my bowels. Labels: art
A flourish here, and exageration there. We cut back words as though they were weeds growing from our precious garden. Slash and slash, so that the roses would shine all the more alone and proud. Never mind the thorns that cut into the craftsman, the gardener wears gloves, but the amateur persists in ungloved nakedness. Stumbling, and fumbling through the thicket of shrub and darkness of the undergrowth.
all works presented herein are 'threewords' with the exception of reposted videos duly titled.