We are, I am, you are
by cowardice or courage
the ones who find our way
back to this scene
carrying a knife, a camera
a book of myths
our names do not appear*
The clearing. We find ourselves in the wreck, once again and then again. A perpetual crisis that leaves us suspended at ground zero. The potential to radically re-imagine the world that seemed so palpable only a blink of an eye ago now tastes bitter in our mouths. But isn’t this theatre of continual crisis the imaginary of power and counter-insurgencies.
So how is it that places, things, our imaginary dies? And how do we go on then, retrieve and reconstitute living matter from the wreck.
And now to return to the wreck itself, to return to cast a new projection, to palpably feel the potential of an unrealized time.
I returned there. Where I had never been. Nothing has changed from how it wasn’t.