--
4h 47’
Rojo es el olvido
La aurora ha oído tres disparos
Y el pájaro ha volado.
— Marie Modiano
--
Words were raised in silence, resonating in each bone, making sure their path through our mind embrace the force of untold worlds.
Firm and slow race, secure and constant motion, unappreciated develop of time.
Early hours, warm silence, sense of ownership, quietness around, unpressed moments.
Flowing through a natural path, disassociation of paradigms, unfolded sequences.
Innate rotation, unplanned moves. Motion at its purest form.
Ode to those early routines where untold voices are telling our story each day, those slow movements dancing around, that soft light yet covering our darkness from a night before. Those unappreciated moments in life. Easy hours. Sense of motion.
Reflections.
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful,
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
— Sylvia Plath
That unconscious early thought in your mind.
That unassociated slow movement in your bones.
That early and first motion in your body.
Slow awakening.
