Warning Sign

I think of how I could have done it differently. Or how you would have said things you never did, as you sat there in your bullet-proof vest. With all the windows closed.
I lost a friend because he couldn't be my lover. I've never lost a friend before.
It's beautiful in here, you know. It's pure and resplendent. Magnificent. But it's in my mind and that's why no one will ever know it the way I do. 

The flower he tucked behind my ear fell out miles ago. It was a cynical gesture anyway; he knew my girliness was a bit threadbare.

“I’m an eye. A mechanical eye. I, the machine, show you a world the way only I can see it. I free myself for today and forever from human immobility. I’m in constant movement. I approach and pull away from objects. I creep under them. I move alongside a running horse’s mouth. I fall and rise with the falling and rising bodies. This is I, the machine, manoeuvring in the chaotic movements, recording one movement after another in the most complex combinations. Freed from the boundaries of time and space, I co-ordinate any and all points of the universe, wherever I want them to be. My way leads towards the creation of a fresh perception of the world. Thus I explain in a new way the world unkown to you.”

-Dziga Vertov

I think love has happened.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kvlFWmvgeVI

But that night, everything seemed against me - the hardness of the boat, the sound of the water and wind, the novelty of it all - everything kept me restless and disturbed. I dreamt I had swallowed a sovereign and someone was cutting a hole in my back to take it out. I was so troubled by my dream that I woke up with a start. The boat seemed stuffy and my head ached. So I crept out from under the canvas onto the bank. 
It was a glorious night. The moon had sunk and left the earth alone with the stars. They awe us, these strange stars - So cold, so clear. And yet the night felt so full of comfort and strength. In its great presence, our small sorrows creep away, ashamed.


-Jerome, Three Men in a Boat

Sometimes I dream of winters and cold morning walks. 

Mumbling #17

The boat is damaged, bruised. Her name is Rebecca. She is married to the water. The relationship has become more abusive than usual, lately. The top of her mast hangs broken and wind has made his way through her bright blue sail, which was once her glory, perforating it. The air seems to be clearing a bit now. A small ray of golden sunshine after days of nothingness. She moves through the mist, despite her cracked hull.  A shadow, a glimmer behind it, she has seen the land after a month. It was always good to her, tending to her wounds. Few moments of respite. The land cannot keep her for long though and she has come to accept that. There isn't any purpose she could serve here, besides becoming home to the waterfowl who would wake her up every morning with it's quacking. She has her own home to return to; the sea. She is married to the water.

This blog is drowsy today.

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