Placebo Nocebo
Photo Paper Fortress
Photo paper fortress. The pictures are spread around me like a wide skirt and the bottom hem is a world that does not comprehend the incomprehensible. They make up a tidal wave I am an island in their midst. They are short-livedseafoam; they are firm as coral reefs. They make up a bit of home, a sincerity that does not flinch. They are my armour; their many dovetail joints make up my fortress.
Mysteries don't puzzle us. They are a gift, a practice, a habit. They are thousands and long hours in the night. They are unspent days and making air waves outside the window thundering down a highway in the dark. They are photosynthesis and photography. There is a cause and a purpose to anything, if you know there is. Even to the dearest mystery.
I pile the scattered images, but dwell on a certain photo for a second and a half. She had a plastic box on her head. It was nothing and nothing and nothing and EVERYTHING.
Mysteries don't puzzle us. They are a gift, a practice, a habit. They are thousands and long hours in the night. They are unspent days and making air waves outside the window thundering down a highway in the dark. They are photosynthesis and photography. There is a cause and a purpose to anything, if you know there is. Even to the dearest mystery.
I pile the scattered images, but dwell on a certain photo for a second and a half. She had a plastic box on her head. It was nothing and nothing and nothing and EVERYTHING.