Sunday, December 06, 2009


the syren's voice carries over the still water ... who knows or can remember what it says ... even how it sounds ... it doesn't matter for it confuses the senses and sends pictures through the ear and ideas through the eye ... you hear of a form perfect in shape but the shape means something you cannot quite see though you understand it you feel very well ... it's a constant a basic everywhere and everywhen and that's a part of the problem ... at any moment it seems to be the color and figure you most admire but each moment's favorite is different from the rest ... she speaks in all the languages of the world ... the color of her skin is the darkest night to purest snow with the rainbow mimicked throughout in between ... the taste on her tongue the touch of her knee the presence of her mind floating through it all ... something familiar in her story on the page in her look on screen ... the idea is the motive the idea of her throughout ... to give her a name would be choosing one color or taste or time ahead of all the others ... to say circle or light smooth and warm is to come closer ... closer to her voice

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