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Sunday, March 7, 2010

Split Open

I figured it out this week, today -
Looking through some windows, and into some eyes,
It’s all of shifting bouts of energy, the rain, and the wind.

The rain falls from our eyes, or onto a window
Wind stings us and batters us like an olde house

And our energy shifts about, in bouts

Like it does between the walls of a house

I considered splitting open unwilling eyes, or content houses…

Like the eye scene from ‘Un Chien Andalou’ – (for those who don’t know… Un Chien Andalou is a 16 minute silent surrealist short film produced in France by the Spanish director Luis Buñuel and artist Salvador Dalí.)



From each blink of an eye, pages would trickle out hand written thoughts, one after the other. A rolling thought dispenser of words & letters… written in fine black ink. If I could I would miniaturize myself to stand below, armed and ready with an awl and thread, to bind the book of thoughts.


As with the eye, a house would divide up like an open sandwhich, revealing all the viscera of its past; words, conversations and aromas that whisked around the room through the years… meeting, mingling and spilling onto paper, rolling out onto the porch like a ready made lawn…

And there I am again, waiting, armed with awl and thread, to bind the walls thoughts.

Would Salvador like to paint such a thing? Maybe he did, or dreamed something similar.


The swirling iris, reminiscent of distant petals, circling the forever changing pupil, the centre of our seemingly black hole where we suck the world in like a vacuum, digest it in our mind -


Blink; and I will catch those paper thoughts.
The windows of a house,
Mournful, nothing-doing, beaten…
And not putting up a fight for the internal bleed.

And now,
Taking all this theory; this perspective of mine,
I transfer it to a journal after it has been filled, taken around and left with no room to add more.

Where are the eyes?
What do they say?


A journal is at once a sanctum & reliquary, a depository of thoughts and expression;

It is a place to release yourself, in some way or another. You live outside of it, but can record life inside it.

And it never puts up a fight.















1 comment:

  1. so beautiful, Louise, a whole philosophy in a few poignant words...

    ReplyDelete

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