Sunday, October 21, 2012

Two kinds of light. 

I meant to write something meaningful about friendship right here. (But I forgot it.)


  1. Mmmmmm, this feels like 2010.

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  3. Sheets, like the fabric of the cosmos, are affected by our presence: wrinkling, distorting, and creating patterns solely due to the pressure of our being, our choice and desire

  4. I also like the top photograph. It seems as if one is looking at a figure's shadow through blinds, which at the one location have been compressed, as if one is attempting, in futility, to view the truth of the figure behind the blinds. This compression itself evinces the feeling of the pages of a very aged book: old, colored, with the smell of vanilla. At the same time, one knows that it is not a book, and thus the perspective it might bestow is that of mistruth...not a lie, but that which is perceived to be true despite the unreality. One can believe this interpretation, as well as the truth of the perceived figure, yet ultimately any statement one can make of the two aspects are veiled by some force unknown to the observer: One knows (or rather, thinks they know) that there is a figure, and they are not sure if what one is looking at is, in reality, blinds on a window leading to true perception; the Self can make the self-authenticated choice to believe either in the shadow of the figure, or otherwise in the distorted interpretation of that truth represented by the manipulation of light around the compression of interaction.


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