this year i have found myself lurking in the darkest of shadows, waiting for spring, hungrier than ever
before. yet the deeper, the more painful this hunger grows, the more
aware i become that, when i long for spring, i in fact long for a
complicated and tumultuous mixture made out of the springs i have lived
through, bits of them scattered throughout my body, springs i imagine to
come, springs as i want them to be, floating memories, disconnected
from whatever might have given birth to them in the first place (if such
a birth has ever existed), hues, words soft like silk, which i tend to
taste on my tongue, while all along believing that i lurk, waiting for this
spring which has to come now, which has already come, unique, pure,
simple and raw.
don't let the photograph fool you: she doesn't make this mistake. yet.
don't let the photograph fool you: she doesn't make this mistake. yet.
I am a yawning bear with aching bones. I could eat a horse right now. That would hold me over 'til the berries ripen and the honey flows. After that, I need some sex before I sleep again.
ReplyDeletelurking for love in all the wrong places
ReplyDeletenostalgia, but no ordinary nostalgia for it is not hooked to linear time but rather is hooked to something deeper. what that deeper thing is i can only sense, did in fact sense as i read this piece, as though this thing lives inside of us in the form of a dark muscle or an organ which has not been identified yet. is this a tragedy that we are not naked in the now but instead shrouded in longing? perhaps. but perhaps not. perhaps instead this is exactly the place where human beauty comes from, that place where beauty is married to pain.
ReplyDeleteto say i love your photographs is only to begin to open my eyes in the morning.
xo
erin
"words soft like silk, which i tend to taste on my tongue, while all along believing that i lurk, waiting for this spring which has to come now, which has already come, unique, pure, simple and raw. "- numai tu puteai face o fotografie,cum este a doua,care sa poata cuprinde aceste toate cuvinte.
ReplyDeletematasea si vinul acestor culori-amintiri,cine sta sa se intrebe,cine stie cand si daca s-au nascut,e ca si curgerea unui lichid,mie imi vine sa ii spun rubiniu,sau ca una dintre pasari,sau ca o crenguta alba de flori,sau ca ce vrei,fiecare are in ea aceste compilatii,si da,primavara este parca cea mai indrazneata,poate ca primavara nu este mereu serioasa,in sprintareala ei,dar este atat de bine si minunat,nu,uneori,ca un lcuru sa fie doar bogat si sa ti se ofere,in umbra asteptarii din colt.
oh,m-am imbatat:)
hi my beautiful friend,thankyou for another masterpeice.It is sooooooooo wonderful to find the child princess of the floating bridge of dreams present and she is the presence of spring itself her young blossoming expansive heart that has not been betrayed by the other seasons of the mind to catch the wordless scent of sprintime flowers and caress the soft petals of the rose without being pricked by the thorns of betrayal to feel the kisses of the sunbeams rocked in her mothers protecting arms yes allow her to lead us down the path....
ReplyDeleteAnd your words are powerful how I love the way you have described the stream of consciousness and its interplay with all the connections of the universe yes it is"a complicated and tumultous mixture made out of springs I have lived through"bits of them scattered throughout my body"..yes I love that each cell of the body has memory stored within it that aches to be recognized and that may have something to do with sweet desire this memory must blossom from the bud of an idea and grow in the human landscape watered by our bitter salt like tears that aggravate the wound and bathed in the sunlight of our exuberant joys.
ReplyDeleteand here is my attempt to overly simplify this, it is the birth of the flowers of ideas the concept in the garden of the mind that must be cultivated before we are expelled.
HUGS and KISSES to you and the sweet princess.
this kid, whoever she is, is so charming! It isn't you, is it?
ReplyDeleteAs for hunger..I find that cinnamon rolls usually work a treat.
b.
Such lovely words for these soft photographs, Roxana. Spring has become more precious to me as I've gotten older, and the one we have here now is quite special...very lush, many blossoms. But fewer bees and birds and I hope they return by summer. I saw a neighbor spraying chemicals on a lawn when I walked yesterday, and the noxious poison drifted my way and I thought no wonder there is less life. Sorry for my thoughts that seem to run from hopeful to dark. It has been that kind of day.
ReplyDeleteThe set design in the first shot is right out of a Sokurov film.
ReplyDeleteWhen i see this kind of beauty, seasons don't seem to matter.
i love the hues in these photographs, the pleasant scent of lilac, ahhh, so rich, seducing, disarming my senses. spring embracing my being, lifting my soul, unique, pure, simple and raw like any other beginning, full of hope and dreams, special in any way possible.
ReplyDeleteIntoxicating, like fine wine.
ReplyDeletestunning, how did you get her to sit still long enough? :)
ReplyDeleteit was her 6th birthday :-)
ReplyDeletei can't get her to sit long enough, of course not, i just pres the button continuously, taking endless photos and so some of them are bound to be fine :-)
thank you so much, dear friends, for lurking, waiting for spring with me, on the Bridge :-)
I'm like thios shots.
ReplyDeleteMorris
Happy Birthday to the beautiful princess of the floating bridge of dreams!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ReplyDeletemay all your dreams take you to enchanted places.
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Lovely pics.
ReplyDelete