January 13th, 2012
Wherein comes the thing. The things. Brought home from elsewhere. Forgotten by elseones. And good, this way. I don’t remember what they remember. Not for that – things, found and taken when wandering. Foreign so, without memories. No ties, no bonds.
For example, the plate, dipped with paint. Now on the wall. But no! No wall, or is this the end?
If it is so, so be it! Plate on the wall it is. So yes then, this thing walls off the wall. It cracks, memoryless, foreign thing in it. Joyous things they are, after all. Left for leaving. Finding home in leaving.
Thus you can learn one thing, as well as many, from these things – to leave to make a home. A one darn bloody and shinny home, at last.
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