postcard four
“a click of spine drawn along
and in
and through to distance
this view of words and letters and notes and song
weighting to be heard, begging to open
the furl of crisp-edged papers, stavingly bound
in creaking woodchip…
some might say, where they belong…”
The winter snap we feel of late had not transcended time just yet. Mornings of bright sun slewing lemonjuice through milkcloud sky as a common slaw were not to be. Instead, the leaves rustled in treetops, threatening to fall from bough and branch, and mulch pavements with a slippy sweet topping - perhaps the bubbling syrup from a crumble, or soaked through breakfast cereal, slaked and flung with a spade.
Warm tea when the sun rises. Thoughts of ill-repute banished for a temporary time. Watch the way the mood changes as grey light dispels the myths that night left behind. No danger of sleeping in too much. Maybe by going so far away, you find yourself closer than the reflection might seem?
And more miles travelled, and borders crossed. Watching gaggles turn giggled, poisoned by jelly sweets and penny chews. Brightly coloured to lure you in, sickly stuck to keep you hooked. On the sly, you become littered with fishwire piercing. Don’t answer to it now. Drunk on creation, lost in your own sweet atmosphere…
Two steps back. Two more steps away from. Further than arm’s length.
Just an observer, don’t forget. Just an observer. Nothing more.
Just a pair of eyes to slightly see. Just equipment to carry. Set this up, and that. Listen for the crescendo. Document and keep. Don’t erase. Don’t erase. Don’t er. Don’t.
A bolted door opens, rushing the room with light. It is as if the reflective cumulonimbus have turned up the contrast in a high-definition world. White gushes in from outside, making my subjects painted in shadow. Light reflects from all in the periphery, but seems to sink into humanskin.
Click. Click.
Never been good with people, no.
Click.
See too many layers into their silhouette.
Click. Click.
Only really come to understand those who perforate and dislocate at the edges.
Click. Click. Click.
I try and find a corner, flooded by absence. Try and look at the edges of the silhouettes before me.
No jagged edges, just smooth lines.
reflections, perfection.
My work here is over.
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