Self and reality. Symbol and language. Myth and image. Memory and consciousness.
Dream and unreality: locus communis.

Sunday, December 28, 2014

A Perpetual Metamorphosis

Lately, I have collected more fractured lines—numerous phrases—an ongoing project for the approaching 2015. The flow of information gathers in repetitious waves—more so than I originally planned. A thread of thought expressed earlier in the litany of phrases reappears later in the series, taking on a new casual reference.

     Collectively they mimic each other.
Nothing remains the same throughout the exchange of ideas. A perpetual metamorphosis.
The artist M.C. Escher proves to be more of an influence on my writing than previously imagined. The patterns moving across the page as water, as mathematical equations. Honeycombs. Pixels of color. A row of birds shifting to young boys shifting to water oaks.
In the same sense of a clutch of dried, potted geraniums— the ones on the front porch— tightly enclosed fists. Yellow lion heads.
Collectively they mimic each other. Yet individually each blossom exists independently of its neighbor.
A metaphor on metaphors.

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