Sunday, February 22, 2009

the art of rheotaxis

Almost transcended via cultural manifestation, a rich pastiche sometimes labyrinth of conflicting ideals too rusted for real use are nonetheless; rustic raw elements.
Enduring, rugged symbiotic loving.

I look at this once was stranger standing beside me in the snow. How did we find ourselves here, alone, amongst thousands of others. At first glance what may appear to be pure exotica by external factors such as iris hue or voice pitch, a mere peeling of the pallid diaphanous skin reveals through the scientific act of squinting, a communal rheotaxis performed repeatedly miles and kilometres apart. My upstream has been tantamount to his. Both of us, ‘holding position’ until our eyes were dry, until our gaping hollow was just another place to store stuff: How unexpectedly lovely for us, that we found an opening and had the audacity of crawling in.

No comments:

Post a Comment