Wednesday 26 August 2009

Let's play a game of let's pretend. Let's pretend - let's pretend that these words are etched on stone, engraved, until they cannot be forgot. Stuck, written, placed in minds and memories. Think a thing and design it in words. Therein lies the beginning of remembering, once one no longer needs to remember.

In learning we hear, and we take. In writing we understand, and we give. Memory, spun from the failure of ink and wood pulp, placed by the individual, built for the masses, even if intended for individual alone. Once in writing a thing may not be forgotten, memory erased by time. Once in writing, this book is open the world to know.

The inconsequentials, the stories. The written word, left unheard and held by those whose voices remain silenced but for their own version of a sign language, thrown across continents and time, a span only breached by the exceptional. And now we're vanishing again. Into the summer mist. Fog. Jealousy.

Have you been jealous before? This knowledge, a knowing of feelings... I never wanted jealousy.