If Mr. Crouch can get an audience member to believe he had his arm raised the during an entire performance when he hadn’t once raised it, what can we convince ourselves?
Living inside the braided folds just for today.Tangled roots whisper; I can’t hear what they say. Memories are a splinter in the eye.Promises broken become calcified naïveté. Black Swan, slippery like Mercury—haunting.(A life lived well is not a parley.) Water ceasing to hydrate what is crumbling.Silt becomes an urn for ashes someday. Days are shorter…
I’m writing this to just get it out. To put it down. I found a smattering of random notes in my writing desk. There are pages and pages of observations. I’m putting them here because I think maybe there is a theme but I may only find it by sharing. I also don’t want to…
“Shake out your qualms. Shake up your dreams. Deepen your roots. Extend your branches. Trust deep water and head for the open, even if your vision shipwrecks you. Quit your addiction to sneer and complain. Open a lookout. Dance on a brink. Run with your wildfire. You are closer to glory leaping an abyss than…
vulnerability soft folds (ripped open) revealing deep slash bound peer into darkness (infinite landscape) fractal wound binding like a river winding through a canyon he saw all worlds contained we both saw Her here. now. Ekphrastic poem inspired by the Hana Hamplová: Meditations on Paper exhibit at The Frye Art Museum. I saw it once, alone,…