the failed alchemist of words
��������� �����rain. a sheathing sort of coldness that usurps things. imposing order on chaos. or chaos on order, i'm not sure which.right now, the song of something new is definite. the harmonies and melody of it is unmistakeable - a sort of growth, a lancing upward of electric impetus - the future, the impending soon, the ...
doubt, and the pervading uncertainty that the stability of now is always mutable, malleable. that enough pounding on it with the hammer of analysis will shatter the fragility of the moment.
as though the mind is not labyrinthine enough. carefully manoeuvring around puddles and piles of melted/melting snow, the places where ice remains and pavement does not. a wild vibrato, the wind through the trees, the seasons shifting.
weather being the key component to my mood. begging for spring. mail from the north, that crazy wistful wind - in letter-form, in padded envelope form. it's amazing how verifying a letter can be - "look, she signed her name" - this person exists. these books were handled, gathering dust on her bookshelf, at one point in time. metempsychosis of words and paper from one country to another.
this entry is going nowhere.