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A home is a fleeting thing.
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The desire for one makes us swarm restlessly.
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There is no returning to a home already once discovered. A homecoming is a self-archival search.
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When we return home, what we do is similar to looking at an old photograph. Possibly the only kind there is.
The home itself remains one step ahead.
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Perhaps a home could be found in motion? As a horizon to fix eyes on.
Yet in our memories that too becomes a place, anchored in familiar compositions, and, again, place-making playfully skips ahead of us.
:thumb98225273:
The desire for one makes us swarm restlessly.
:thumb151862782:
There is no returning to a home already once discovered. A homecoming is a self-archival search.
:thumb97071229:
When we return home, what we do is similar to looking at an old photograph. Possibly the only kind there is.
The home itself remains one step ahead.
:thumb51721586:
Perhaps a home could be found in motion? As a horizon to fix eyes on.
Yet in our memories that too becomes a place, anchored in familiar compositions, and, again, place-making playfully skips ahead of us.
Holding Devil by His Spoke
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That I might be a part of this,
Ripple on water from a lonesome drip
A fallen tree that witnessed me,
Him alone, him and me.
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And that life itself could not aspire,
To have someone be so admired,
I threw creation to my kin,
With a silence broken by a whispered wind.
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All of this can be broken,
All of this can be broken,
Hold your devil by his spoke and spin him to the ground.
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(From Devil's Spoke http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fs-xxv3ucBg by Laura Marling)
(For your consideration, a version http://
Two steps a-changin'
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Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'.
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Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who
That it's namin'.
For the loser now
Will be later to win
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Fo
Personal things.
What an utter relief. :flame: I haven't been able to flee into a proper, deep, fairly old, Finnish forest for the entire summer but now I'll finally have the opportunity to revive from my torpor, at least for a few days before a painfully dear friend of mine might ascend on our reluctantly post-socialist country's soil late this week.
No features this time. Such would be a little irresponsible of me. I have some winter ones and some Aubrey Beardsley ones gently brewing, but I'm simply otherwise too concentrated to pay any analytic attention to art at this very moment. I've packed my tent, my sleeping bag, the necessary knives, a compass and
The difference in waiting.
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Radio silence.
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A tilted book.
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© 2010 - 2024 Iohannis
Comments9
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! this was beautiful!