.. and language itself as a system of absences, a bricolage of deferrals of the realization of loss ... and photography, a record of things i cannot give you because they are already gone ... but i love the photo (that is the paradox) -- this so solid thing-in-the-world persisting here on the boundary of fading ....
When I was about 7 I gave away all my dolls to a girl that was just visiting down the street. I still regret it. :-(
children amaze me... sometimes they require a thing like it is breath itself, clinging and smothering. but without warning, they can let go, with the best buddhas.
you never know when things will come.
james, you have an uncanny way of nailing my intention. for that i thank you.birdie, i wasn't sure if it was a rite of passage or something deeper. we talk alot in our house about being different. he prides himself on being different. but i'll be dipped in dogshit, i asked him last night, and it was because he was afraid of being laughed at. i said, well, i'm glad you decided to give the bell to robert. it will be here then when you're a teen and you no longer give a rat's ass like me. then you and me, we can put it back on your bike. he lit up! oh, how he lit up!monica, that last line, with the best buddhas slips into the butter of me like a knife. beautiful.andreas, no, we don't! funny, i took this photo a day or so before he unexpectedly took it off his bike. i'm so glad i took the shot. i had a cat i had meant to shoot with my new camera. it passed before i got around to it. there was a house behind the precipice of a rock outcropping when i biked the country roads. i swore and swore one spring when i finally had the courage to ask to enter the property and it had been felled the fall before. a coworker died before i told her just how beautiful she was, how tiny and light her smile. my father, before he knew me. loves lost before i realized the love was leaving. bits of me. and so it goes. and so i would very much like to name things as they pass as though naming is in the least a kiss, a touch, a witnessing.xoerin
"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))