My knitting is unravelling slowly. I am dropping stitches. Memories dripping away, disappearing, disintegrating, evaporating, fading.
The cloudy brain is left with a conscious mind, floating in the "now"
Today, the moment holding no steady position in history, or is it history falling away from the present conscious mind?
I live here in the present, I live within the day, this hour, this minute, not one second after or before this very moment.
My life is a long coat made of knotted threads, some transparent and fragile, some solid as steel, there is shape and texture, quality, woven in love and despair, comedy and tragedy.
There are moth holes appearing in this fabric, this web of life.
(for Lucy Ivens)
Friday, May 31, 2013
Thursday, May 23, 2013
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