Regarding Fresh Starts

20150620_121948There is no such thing.

We are palimpsests. There is no essence, only sums – in the end.

And only then.
Meanwhile, we are continually re-formed, re-contextualised. Erasures.
Recorded, fragmented, rerecorded, as accurately as before –
but different.

We are as many stories as viewpoints, as points of contact. We will be
clouds seen through a cardboard tube on a windy afternoon
with the world on its back in a field.

We are the itch of a blade of grass on its lower back.

We were, in that present, an annoyance. Now, this gust of cold, North Sea.

We are the twelve year-old boy, living in the cave and painting
the pleasure of an erection.

We have been his mother’s rolling eyes.

I'd love to read whatever thoughts this might spark for you.

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