Thursday, February 11, 2010

Pen, Paper & 24 White teeth- A Mouth Full of Words

Before I began folding I was a little obsessed with all things descriptive. 
I love words, sentences and the jumble they create when strung together.

Heres my paper mess in words.
I have a problem with this pen.  
And still I continue to misplace my pen. 
And my problem is simply that no correct attire can solve my dilemmas as promptly as you suggest it may.  We cannot simply avoid by turning towards an alternate direction.  So do I lie down with disfigurement drilling in my ear waves or do I act on them, as they waffle one beat at a time.   
Then thud! The screams in the other room force me to gather my thoughts and act as one would when the curtains are drawn open, signalling a time to leave.  But to move on from yesterday is as straight forward as any poser.  To bind the latter as though it were as simple as creasing the edges so that they fit tightly into the starch envelope then seal, address and send.  Would this lift the burden from my ‘accepted wisdom’ which forces me to remain awake, and solve these tight spots?  
I require a need to conceal all evidence that may evict the assumptions looming foot first.  Then delve into the unsolved and correct the passages from the past so that the theory relates to the now and not the news spread in the weekly paper.  Laid out openly after a gossip columnist circulates famous trash theories as though they were her own.  
We cannot invent from new ideas as equally as we cannot believe the reporters that film their characters every move.
We must clear the air with political gamble as though some sense can be made of it all.
Time is a commodity that we often trade for an easier escape.   
So I will quickly move on from it all.  And slowly gain riches in the seeds that have not yet been soiled upon.  I will nourish the thoughts that live vividly, in my imagination tonight and attempt to console any feeble thoughts lurking the day after.  In order to regain any preciseness left in what is unseen and left to the blinding eye.  
A blur of my fragments that cannot be bound together.  
I will slowly make sense of these pieces blown sideways.