The idea of a quiet existence is unbelievably appealing to me. Maybe I could call it the Stone Cottage Syndrome, this idea that I could burrow away in this amazing cozy home/house, wooden beams overhead, more than one room but barely - wall partitions instead of doors. And every morning - there would be no alarm clock and I would rise and stretch and rise and meet the day in its newness, without waking up with some sort of lingering regret (as I have the last couple days - what the hell is that?) And I would walk and write and draw and cook, I picture this all alone - but I very much doubt I could float along in an idyllic existence alone.
But alone seems less complex than the million heartstrings that push and pull long past their expiration date. And I find it easy to fall/stay in love with places - they are so solid - they change, they do - the weather wears them, the sun fades them, parts need replacement, but so often you return to somewhere you have not been for a long time and when you run your hand over the wall or up the banister - it feels the same. The comfort I draw from interaction with inanimate structures really astounds me - why it evokes such a reaction. Perhaps it is because the amount that they change is limited and that the changes they go through are quite expected.
I am rambling into screen later than I should be as I have to wake up in a mere 5 hours to catch the early ferry to Keats. Good night lovely screen starers, I retire.
Post a Comment