Unless Spoken To
The uninteresting lull of the future
It really has been one of the more difficult years. I move on pretty quickly from things, places, people as whatever this journey is gets reduced to the present. Whatever is now demands attention. Live and deal with the consequences. Naturally I lean towards the empty rooms of being, the question of how can I fill time, space, minds with a morsel of, I don’t know, what it desires. Every so often I get stuck. Maybe its been longer than I am sensitive to or maybe I’ve lost the sensitivity all together for intuiting the bounds of emptying what I would reserve for a life I would be full in. I have one want thats been the obsession of years and it is a process I think rather than the thing that will ease that part of my brain that rings the moment don’t know. I wish I was writing more but its difficult. Well difficult as anything else. Every word sits there, a flash of the spirit, and I idealize its fixtures to my trembling body. And every once in a while something sticks.
This is a recording I did for the archived performance in November. Maybe some words stuck. For now I begin again, home.