Today is a day when symbols have no signification attached to them anymore; they are just little anchors to the material world, a bit like the dots and comas of sentences. In my visual poetry, a cross has just attracted my eyes. It is possibly the capital letter of a word I am about to spell. I think nothing of christianity. Christianity , to me, is a burried body. A plastic straw is a burried body. A tree trunk is a burried body. My grand-parents are 4 burried bodies but my father was cremated and his ashes scattered on top of the mountain he cherished. Something was real though for me to be; I can not dispel all that exist around me and pretend things are dots and planes of color and light. I tell you now what was omnipresent and had the biggest impact on how I felt because I can not show it to you, not today at least : it was the rats rushing in the foliage on the side of the canal.
What you see in the picture is only half of the story. never forget that.
What you see in the picture is only half of the story. never forget that.
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