mother's house
mothers house 1.
An other house from the house my mother lives and I thought of Gerhard Richter.
Two flowerheads which greet you in the sun and sit below the room I sleep in.
Every day the toilet roll and the wall are like different people
A simple turn of the head. The gaze to light. How the 'banal' penetrates.
merry christmas
Thoughts swirl, night is closing. .Wake otherworldly. On nights like these, thoughts are elsewhere..
Bowie, Gran, B on my guitar.
Visitors find new strangeness in simple things
It's after xmas now and the trees , wrapped in plastic wait outside the house. Awaiting swift hands.
FIrst light . 6AM. Awake to meet it on the carpet, desire for it to encompass you.
My name in a child's hand. My 3 year old self in my mother's hands once again.. Where is he now?
looking in.
Inside or Outside. You wonder.
Scream
looking out.
Lines post-sunset. I think of voices they carry. My own,speaking to mother from a European city.
A month and cut. All growth and decay marks time. Black and flecks of silver. Take note.
Time
"Knock. Knock." "Who's there?" "Spring."
Mother sleeps.
