At last a new post.
A new blank slate that waits the rain of black ink. A piece of used to be tree.. maybe a pine or a walnut, a cherry blossom or an oak.. something that was majestic in its past life.. with hundreds of rings hidden in its bark and trunk.
Here i am in a cluttered setting, a smashed light, a smashed inkwell. Entropy. Chaos. That beautiful sound on a chaotic theme in the vastness of the universe.
The flickering candle in the corner of the desk.. the wax melting and freezing in time.. like tears on the statue of Pieta. A cascading fall of frozen tears.
The ink glittering and glowing in the ember of a dead candle… the last breath from an inanimate object transcending/ transforming/ transporting from one side to another.
Once letters come alive.. a breath of author-ish divine … he makes them … gives them a meaning.. a shape.. a form.. a linguistic form… love out of nothing at all… that is the love we are talking about.