Friday, July 22, 2011
A diver falls deep into the pressure of thought and sense and breath, and he waits. He waits until a point that will almost sever his spine, a point where he is bowed by gravity and falls to its pull for fear of caving and snapping suddenly towards death at the bottom of a silent ocean. The pressure of depth overcomes his courage suddenly and he is without blood. He feathers down to the bottom becoming tiny pieces, fragments of photographs, vector lines. In my dreamthought he can fly and breathe in the waters that consume his heart. but his breath is slow and labored. He breathes in the salt and minerals, the animal fragments, and seashell shards that pierce his lips. Moves change into waves and lead us up on the way down. Of clouds, we are helpless, slapped by the presence of composite goddesses. Is it your desire now to conjure yourself transformed from earth to a crescent waved water god?