19 August 2009

Waiting for Universe

I love those unimportant moments in life. Within a busy schedule it can be just walking from the car to house and back, a moments pause on the sidewalk, staring out into the sky at the gas pump, crunching a stone under my shoe in the supermarket parking lot, staring at the scratched and smeared buttons on the elevator, a noisy bird unaware in a tree... the unscheduled breaks. The inbetween times. This is where I go fishing. I throw out the net and wait. Sometimes it happens.

Sometimes a door opens up and a rock becomes an ancient, heavy smoke frozen in solid form. Sometimes the air around me jumps from gas to liquid to the vacuum of space. Sometimes I catch my hand at an angle that makes it appear completely foreign and the memory of owning it blurrily melts back till its mine again. Sometimes gravity pulls me into a vertical awareness reaching the heights of thinning atmosphere miles above and plunges into the aggregate layers beneath my feet filled with roots and stones and pipes and broken chunks of urban past. Is it possible that this piece of paper just transferred a quick history of it's life to me? Energies pulverized wood to such tiny bits, boiled and smashed and bleached and pressed and dried it into a new object with properties totally contrary to tree. Sometimes I'm pushing buttons that manipulate groupings of dots that represent symbols on a flat screen lightbulb.

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