The Man with the Mustache and the Dude with the Beard Its funny, though theres no bridge that I can see in desperation or illumination to believing that such a force could ever die, or help a mother birth, theres a way I admire a man who claimed the power of moving mountains, and another man who stressed the importance of standing on them- as the wings of moments between people whiz by, as they flap and conflate, as they forget those motions in the next breath, I see a dwelling space of movement and of height. A creation unparalleled, even if simply collaged from things under the sun. We uncover parallels, and so something unparalleled is uncovered, difference spotlighted by a knowing sun. The light that gives birth to another teacher- does it matter if its old? We hope that its not just gradual decay that led these men to clap their hands loudly, and use language in ways not heard elsewhere until the great decay broke out- or perhaps this is the only way we could walk a tightrope, if that- for a certain amount of time- a man in a conical hat in Zurich, speaking in tongues as a prophesy. But a finger touches across cliffs, intersectionality rises out of so much flattened space. And so these constellations of words become the angel, the fountain in the midst, not mirage but bridge.
Posted on: Thu, 10 Jul 2014 22:27:42 +0000
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