the ivories

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Poetry

shades of sounds of chunks of life

keying in, in

precise intervals.
ringing through the air.

what happened here.
a recollection.
a manufactured memory.

the indistinct temperature of the ivory
against her skin.

the keys invariable raise back up,
line up. precisely. even after sometimes chaos is rung the ivories
line up.

minimal

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News

tipping point –
there are no colours left in my wardrobe,
and only two dozen items maybe.
some socks and underwear.

the pictures on the walls have come down also,
but for one, of two women embracing each other like sisters of lovers, I don’t know.
it remains hung right above a television
that isn’t connected to anything.

progressively editing my own life down.
making room for increasingly complex ideas.

transi(en)t lines

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Poetry
a platform on a newly constructed line.
.
a silhouette against maize acrylic tiles
engraved with a name, repeated in Johnston or Gotham
.
a sound floor – persistent mechanical murmur, mur à mur,
he listens into the tunnel,
predicting which side the next train would arrive from
.
or walks down the platform. up the platform.
his exit will be closer to this end, in this direction
.
in some cities subway cars loop
even on lines that have an end and a beginning,
two beginnings, two ends
.
in other places: marginal networks, waiting quays -
the places his imagination wanders,
as light signals flicker indicating immediate destinations
.
a tunnel at the end of a line built during your childhood.
.

thought randomization, pt. I

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Poetry / Reflections

quelques autre pensées avant de s’assoupir
j’oublie peut-être comment m’exprimer,
pas ce soir, mais toujours.

I’ve come to think that the language I express myself in, the medium I choose for what I have to say – should I write, photograph, create moving images? – isn’t actually all that important. I think that, with time, I would like to learn to create across disciplines, indiscriminately. An idea, a word, an image, moving or otherwise, what are their relative weights? I’ll attempt to randomize forms of expression, create narratives that carry over, that purposely lack an ending, a middle a beginning – structures stretching across themselves, replaying endlessly perhaps. These are the ideas I am currently interested in.