You walk the streets, you go into the woods, you get close to the water and you kick the ball about five hundred times just to see if maybe the scenes appear in front of you and instead of just remembering you can live, relive, not by going back but just by staying here and walking and seeing and smelling and talking —to someone or to yourself— all over town. All over the concrete and the grass, all the way up and all the way down. And the scenes —the small photographs in motion— don’t appear and you realize that they’re just empty frames that go on and on and you’re just in one right now; every second that goes by you fill another one that you’ll come back for some day. Continuously, wonderfully, in this place of eternal goodbyes.
Un petit espai per escriure —sí, amb paraules— sobre això i allò, sobre un mica de tot i quasi bé de res.
dilluns, 25 de maig del 2015
dilluns, 18 de maig del 2015
dimecres, 13 de maig del 2015
Era això
I came back
and it was this.
and it was this.
the shining, bright sun, the smell of the air just now,
each physical moment, passing, passing, it's what
it always is or ever was, just then, just there.
Robert Creeley
Etiquetes:
Boston,
Confessions,
Literatura,
Paraules pròpies,
Poesia,
Veritats,
Viatges
dimarts, 12 de maig del 2015
Outlook Drive
I'm just another animal in the woods, reliving a shadow, finding the words that got left behind: ecosystem, orthodontist, playground.
Etiquetes:
Boston,
Confessions,
Paraules pròpies,
Rutina bonica,
Viatges
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