December 14th – The Pull
Like candy, like the Christmas tree in our window revealing itself to an empty snow-grey street, and looking up at it, the dead telephone poles, and the pull. Keep pulling and pulling me, onward, into homemade ornaments and tinsel, into other stories, and then back down by the abandoned factories, warehouses, and I can summarize them all as “et cetera”.
December 16th – At Dusk, the Power Plant
The houses accept their placement, the tire lines sculpt in the snow on their gravel driveways, junk toys, junk toys and trash cans, and almost remembering how it felt to go to Toys ‘r’ Us as a seven year old. Beyond them even more rust-metal and poles and weird generators in the four o’clock light, and I think I can actually feel its electricity in the air, and it feels like how the thin bare tree branches look against the sky, and the energy silhouettes us.
December 17th – A meal, a meal, a meal
My hands instinctively know where to go, every inch of the surface, its subtle unevenness, bumps and knots in the pine, all known to me. It’s how the edges fill with breadcrumbs and tar-like dust. The fabric stretched across my body, all this in repetition. Or how the metal’s silver gaze becomes discolored over time from use. The soft of my mouth know these utensils, the spoons and forks, and thus vice versa. Everything inside becomes warm.