Here is a flood. Of awe at the beauty. Of nuance, association. Much like you described the experience of listening to Silent Night and the images and thoughts that flashed in your mind in milliseconds, so like are the thoughts that come to mind when this image is seen. With cursory commentary only... Shards and rays balancing upon the scales of overall interpretation, like a fork in the road each path of thought extends into two entirely different routes and the views along one are much varied from the other. Above all it is divine in its beauty. I thought of High, the video, the running through the trees that even when I think of it some 3 years or so after I first saw it on Tube's blog, does something to me, just the memory of the feelings that flooded me as I watched, the complete abandon, no thought of consequence, legs extending to meet the landscape in the moment that it is met and not a second before, terribly incomplete clarification of its influence, influence so great I still remember my comment upon it, almost word for word, I wrote merely something along the lines of 'Who would have thought. Not I.' Who can imagine outside of the experience itself how something seen can trigger a series of responses, how it can trigger memories and ideas, how it can appeal to the soul, and heart, on levels unspoken, undetectable. When I look at this image, I am overwhelmed. Vietnam, yes, would you believe, a fan spinning to relieve the heat, gliding along helicopter blades for a spell, lush greens, heavy rain, flower heads so much larger than we see here, as big as our own, the thought trails off into the darkness of what cannot be seen, almost as though the fan shifts the light, flashes it, and it is unclear, what lies in the darkness, I could look further, but it doesn't want me to know, and so I imagine, and again there are several possibilities that come to mind, steamy, sweaty, the fan stands then in a bedroom, as they often do, the darkness making night, the colours, kimono-exotic emphasizing thoughts of the tropical, the heat, and the images turn x-rated, and then I wonder, why is it that that though this is my mind, the scene remains hidden, and choice is suggested, to put it delicately, there is no love, necessity instead perhaps, and with that a host of different reasons why that could be so, some obvious, some not so obvious. And I think of survival - and this comment was never meant to be this long or this messy, but never mind, eh - and how survival can be a significant event or a quiet past-time in a manner of speaking, it can be a here and now mammoth undertaking or it can be every day choices that we have to make, shards versus rays, liberty versus limitation --- again must go check, to see which post this was for, whether words written thereto have had influence --- Weeping, Falling, and having to remind myself does not take any thing away from the combination of post and image, rather it shows just how influential the image standing alone is, that in itself it is something complete - one might perhaps judge that the words in this case had influence, but I would tell you that they did not, that the image alone conjured these two of a dozen(more) thoughts, the other 10+++ not touched upon, but it was interesting in view of words like liberty to be reminded of nails and destination. Shards it is, if never you spoke, it would be, and that much was known when I began this comment, that you did, that it is. Weeping, Falling, more I must say to this, for this poem, for the commentary, never finished is how it feels to be commenter, as never-ending as is the influence of the writing, as unfinished is what is needing to be said in response, increasing with every look upon it, every memory of it, them, mind you, DT generally and every post written. I could write forever as you can see. :-D Reason being not only influence but the lack of a skill you possess, of being able to hone, to tell it like it is with direct simplicity. As with now, those tens have faded into the background, to be found in another viewing of the image without a doubt, but I think that I shall have mercy on your eyes, on your journey through this fog, and tell you simply that this image is limitless.
1 comment:
Here is a flood. Of awe at the beauty. Of nuance, association.
Much like you described the experience of listening to Silent Night and the images and thoughts that flashed in your mind in milliseconds, so like are the thoughts that come to mind when this image is seen.
With cursory commentary only...
Shards and rays balancing upon the scales of overall interpretation, like a fork in the road each path of thought extends into two entirely different routes and the views along one are much varied from the other. Above all it is divine in its beauty.
I thought of High, the video, the running through the trees that even when I think of it some 3 years or so after I first saw it on Tube's blog, does something to me, just the memory of the feelings that flooded me as I watched, the complete abandon, no thought of consequence, legs extending to meet the landscape in the moment that it is met and not a second before, terribly incomplete clarification of its influence, influence so great I still remember my comment upon it, almost word for word, I wrote merely something along the lines of 'Who would have thought. Not I.' Who can imagine outside of the experience itself how something seen can trigger a series of responses, how it can trigger memories and ideas, how it can appeal to the soul, and heart, on levels unspoken, undetectable. When I look at this image, I am overwhelmed. Vietnam, yes, would you believe, a fan spinning to relieve the heat, gliding along helicopter blades for a spell, lush greens, heavy rain, flower heads so much larger than we see here, as big as our own, the thought trails off into the darkness of what cannot be seen, almost as though the fan shifts the light, flashes it, and it is unclear, what lies in the darkness, I could look further, but it doesn't want me to know, and so I imagine, and again there are several possibilities that come to mind, steamy, sweaty, the fan stands then in a bedroom, as they often do, the darkness making night, the colours, kimono-exotic emphasizing thoughts of the tropical, the heat, and the images turn x-rated, and then I wonder, why is it that that though this is my mind, the scene remains hidden, and choice is suggested, to put it delicately, there is no love, necessity instead perhaps, and with that a host of different reasons why that could be so, some obvious, some not so obvious. And I think of survival - and this comment was never meant to be this long or this messy, but never mind, eh - and how survival can be a significant event or a quiet past-time in a manner of speaking, it can be a here and now mammoth undertaking or it can be every day choices that we have to make, shards versus rays, liberty versus limitation --- again must go check, to see which post this was for, whether words written thereto have had influence --- Weeping, Falling, and having to remind myself does not take any thing away from the combination of post and image, rather it shows just how influential the image standing alone is, that in itself it is something complete - one might perhaps judge that the words in this case had influence, but I would tell you that they did not, that the image alone conjured these two of a dozen(more) thoughts, the other 10+++ not touched upon, but it was interesting in view of words like liberty to be reminded of nails and destination. Shards it is, if never you spoke, it would be, and that much was known when I began this comment, that you did, that it is. Weeping, Falling, more I must say to this, for this poem, for the commentary, never finished is how it feels to be commenter, as never-ending as is the influence of the writing, as unfinished is what is needing to be said in response, increasing with every look upon it, every memory of it, them, mind you, DT generally and every post written. I could write forever as you can see. :-D Reason being not only influence but the lack of a skill you possess, of being able to hone, to tell it like it is with direct simplicity. As with now, those tens have faded into the background, to be found in another viewing of the image without a doubt, but I think that I shall have mercy on your eyes, on your journey through this fog, and tell you simply that this image is limitless.
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