Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Foraging, I sometimes pause

As Homer more than anticipated, sometimes the chronicle of mortal destruction, brooking no reluctance, encounters a caesura as the thread is milled from the mind, and we know this pause within his original acoustic, or on the apostolic page, as an experience of texture. We have recalled his efficiency, of going in above the clavicle, without addressing his dialogues at spear's point. Intimate, implacably more moving than the lamentations which pile up in their wake, they are macro-photographs of acute cognition of depth, the greatest burden recital has ever had to bear. 


Fanny, Les contours du silence

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