Unknown to us and others – Vitað að okkur og aðra

May 10, 2013 § Leave a comment

My best friend died when she was just a young girl. I am not sure if that is true, or even any form of truth for anyone. I can remember some of what it felt like to be a child. I remember houses mostly. Do you long to be alone? Are you no longer alone? I have three weeks here in Iceland and then I return home. Except there is no real home for me anymore. I never quite fit, and being here has helped me to understand that. You know that feeling when you have been mispronouncing a word. Then you learn the right way to say it, and suddenly the word feels foreign slipping from your lips. I have been mispronouncing a lot of words. That is a metaphor. Fuck you. i cried for you today and i hate that I feel that way. The distance between you and me is the distance between me and a mountain. The distance between you and me, me and a mountain.

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Dear dear

April 11, 2013 § Leave a comment

Dear dear

When the dog pressed her paws to my chest, I felt sore and alive. She wanted to be a sentry. I wanted to be a platform.

hljóð og dvöl

March 13, 2013 § Leave a comment

the river is swollen beneath the ice and her sound is an echo of intent.

on sand

February 14, 2013 § Leave a comment

sandlegs
I was on a plane recently. I sat at the window which is unusual as I usually choose the aisle. It was the afternoon and the light was blinding me. There were no clouds and it was warm and beautiful. I thought myself happy then.

I saw a house, filled with sand. Everything upside down, pushed hard against the sand, being consumed. The doors were stuck to, open just enough to see the piles drift towards the back wall. There must have been buried things. The dry dust. The crystals.

In my dream I made a snowball bigger and bigger, compressing the snow between my open hands, contracting it to a hard knot of ice. I pushed so hard the ice became styrofoam and then it crumbled in my hands.

January 14, 2013 § 1 Comment

Everything feels cloudy. Feeling out of place. The cold, the relative intensity of the season. Facing a lot of mirrors, maybe learning more about my failings than strengths. The turn in the weather is making my bad ankle swell, ache. It is quiet here in the suburbs. Sleeping in a single bed, reminders of holidays spent in mildura and with my nana and papa. The rooms void of a person, so things like a lamp or wallpaper loom large. The closed in porch. The nightmares about robots in the walls. The side of the house with forgotten plant trestles and empty pots. The large water tower. Here it is a cul de sac. Everyone has lights. I feel very lonely.

I don’t want to know what you did, I want to know how what you did made you feel

January 14, 2013 § Leave a comment

I have doubts. Lots of them. I often want to retreat into moments of stillness remembered. I feel like I have subtly erased myself from the memories of people, my friends. I often think about dying. All the things I would no longer have to do or be responsible for. Not another morning waking up and feeling hollowed out and strange. noel kept asking me why I don’t take photographs of people anymore. And thats true. Except for lovers, I take photographs of them. I don’t really ever look at them, I just like knowing they are there. Mostly taken in times of silence and muted cooperation.

I remember walking around Toronto Island in twilight, following a group of peacocks. I wanted one of them to drop a feather. I watched their bodies and necks and tails. I didn’t realise that these birds have more than just blue feathers on their body and the tail feathers. They have red and iridescent and this strange spotted cream and brown. of course birds don’t just ‘drop’ feathers, so I wandered around a few of the spaces they seemed to hang around, or at least trying to find a nesting point. I found some feathers which I kept in my portable darkroom bag. I intended to do something with them, in the end I took them to another area and buried them, because, at the time, I felt I didn’t want them to blow away into the water.

I don’t think I am beautiful. I try to compensate by being interesting and interested in others.

I want to hear some new sounds. I want someone to lie with me in the morning and talk about what we are thinking. I want to be able to have someone see the same colours in the leaves of a tree shifting just a little as the sun is setting or rising.

I hear in Iceland, when I hope to be there, that the dawn and dusk are drawn out and the sky, land and ocean look very different. I feel that could be a defining moment for me. after making my portable labyrinth. Maybe before making my tethered boat.

Goddamn it.

You can email me your thoughts you have upon waking or just before you fall asleep, what makes you happy, a tree you remember from childhood, the sound your lover makes or how they make you feel or fail to make you feel. Anything at all, worthwhile and which you usually keep to yourself.

rush.of.sun@gmail.com

What is the obstacle? What is the warning?

January 14, 2013 § Leave a comment

1. I don’t know if I can imagine three months alone in a strange land, carting sand from one end to the other. Shuffling a pathway (pilgrimage) through the snow, casting it, and then recreating it, that journey, that path, for others to follow. A map which can be laid on any floor. A portable hole.

2. Standing at the edge. I was at Bondi Beach in Sydney once and I walked out into the waves when I felt the sea floor below me give way and plunge into the beginning of the great deep. No more solid land to make you feel safe, land that can be walked back to shore, back across the sand, back across the road and then as far as you need to go before you reach home.

3. In a strange car at night on an unfamiliar road the kind where the bitumen rounds off on to grass, rocks and then trees. No houses about, headlights. A black cat crosses the highway and someone else in the car says ‘was that a cat’ and you say ‘yes’.

4. Hiding places. For physical things, for thoughts, for secrets.

5. A stream that is small enough to cross. A river that is too big.

6. The creek was cool and running fast. We laid our drinks and milk in the creek to cool them down. Further up the creek the water rushes over a crevice of rocks and you can shimmy up them, sit and wedge yourself in and the water flows over the rock to your lap.

7. A stranger who opens your window. Noises outside.

8. 25840 tonne icebreaker forging a path through sheer brute force. The sea flows where it shouldn’t. But we made it through.

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