Monday, December 7, 2009
Response: une mere de glace
I have a gaze that speaks to subjects, matter of fact it creates objects, and it does so well in this task because my eyes are mirrors. Une Mere De Glace as another has cast herself-the ice sea reflects what your eyes see. This is not a day of transcendence for me, but a moment of death, caught in eternity without movement toward future possibilities for being in the world authentically.
I've been framed for the ways I stretch myself like canvas to touch you. Across many states of love affairs, this is the picture of distance. Still. Looking back at you without expressing the feelings you have painted on your chest. I don't write on my skin what I breathe through my speech. I told you about love and my deliberate intentionality. My mantra has been a list of affirmations that outline a glimpse of reality. You traced it so well through your projections, but machines can't fill in the rest. A lonely heart lacks the color scheme to see a present moment with sufficient depth.
So the peace is colored blue, orange, and green--perhaps it should have remained white in your eyes. Now I see you looking at me, craving to be painted into my iris again. Unfortunately, my canvas has been ripped at the seams of my heart too harshly.
I hardly remember what love means.