it has been a long time since i added this photo. a long moment of lockdown. a tearing need of a heaven to breathe. the moment i needed a kick and i launched a documentary on Nick. his and only his sequences, seems like they seep from the same place. i scent wood and a dim, warm light in the middle of the night. weak but persistent. nightlong monologues with yourself or imaginary disputants. ideas of closeness. communion on the verge of skin.
sometimes i feel like this over there, in my cemetery. when i look up at the sky, it seems to belong to the macrocosm and summons its reflection in me. the solitude, whistling grasses and the voice of a man from behind the veil.
we are cold but not coldest.
there come times when this is enough.
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