'ghosts'

the flying fish swims on its side of the plane, in all directions at any time—it moves irrespective to any laws or rules. considering one straight and level tract of distance, it enters at any point in time or space. it could be said that you'd find the fish there in that tract no matter when you looked. at some point in its travels, at the so-called 'start' of this tract, it decides to do what gives it its name. bursting through the plane it begins its ballistic trajectory, with all of the physics that entails. during its flight, it sees the world—trees, sky, grass, everything. at some point during this short-lived voyage into a world it doesn't belong, or at many points, perhaps, it looks down to view its home where its eternal voyages took place and sees itself looking back. often, as it is, this occurs just as the world is exerting its final presence on the fish, and as the fish is catching one last glimpse of itself from both sides, it is—once and for all—pushed back across the void. but these are the best moments of our lives.

untitled

wander my deserts
in search of a home
that does not exist
unknown yet
full of my love

but: differences
you are unaware
and you are not chosen

please keep walking

untitled

a burden's weight
is only measured
by the strength
of its
carrier

'the bridge'

construction of the bridge has been progressing steadily. while in ordinary circumstances such a proclamation perhaps creates decent feelings or at least some degree of satisfied indifference, the current situation in fact produces two problems: firstly construction was not commissioned or permitted by the government and secondly, though environments of the first problem are often enough reason to nullify this second problem, the people of the soon-to-be-adjoined two lands do not want it. the first problem is not uncommon; architecture has long been applying itself to the landscape without sanction. there is a peculiarity, though, that arises from the rest: on every level the mere idea of constructing such an apparatus would appear beneficial. extrinsically, though, the people have always loved their water; for leisure, for business, or for travel, the tiny straight and the romantic feelings involved in the journey across it have seemed to elucidate a nostalgic proxy that appears to shorten its lateral distance in the minds of the people. the unfettered straight allowed for ease of passage, and a kinship between the swimmers of both sides floated towards the middle of the waters.

nevertheless, construction continues to progress steadily. beneath this proclamation is the curious fact that the workers, both groups starting at one land and building inwards towards those middle waters, are working without blueprints or the ability to contact the other group. they labor the day and sometimes late into the night, with a steely intensity that is indescribable. with no plans or communication, however, each side is left to guess the exact direction of the other, this proving exceedingly difficult during the morning fogged hours and the dusky late afternoon. thus, every late-morning it comes to the workers that they have labored their nights in askew directions. the hoped-for connection is increasingly obscuring and distancing, but the will and purpose of this unsanctioned, unwanted construction continues anew every foggy morning, furthering the distance between these lands and the people, who look out over the water—now crowded with construction—longingly.
at one time, these separate lands were one; no longer. their affections and affinities form an invisible tether of infinite length, holding them at a distance rivaled only by that to which they are now separated from the time they were one.

at once, i hear an anachronous whistle, meaning it is time for dinner, and i must go.