Sunday, October 3, 2010
Every pull must be counter balanced with a push, like the great suck and blow motion of the sea. Every word written, every footprint left will be brushed away with the swoop of an omnipotent hand. The canvas will be clean, pure, undebased and you will be free. When the time comes, the invisible ink will swell and you will feel the indents like braille under the thumb. A labyrinth of lines and shapes for you to follow, but you will not be lost, you will know your way, with a compass in your chest, ticking. The echo will sound in your ear and find its way down the back of your neck, your spine, the tops of your thighs, and you will tremble, and the world will tremble with you.