flâneur

Infinite Practice. - by iL. - Bluezone

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I caught my arm on a thorn and watched blood flow across my skin like rhododendrons that figured out how to run. Wincing, I watched the race. She patched me up and I got to look at her as she wrapped me in a veil. Parts inverted. The way new demeanour uncoiled itself with each spin of the bandage around my arm. Eternal life, that’s what’s promised in the prayer-eyes of the deadman. To live and wonder for more. To die and wonder the same. Paradox, everywhere. To seek fulfilment and treat ourselves like a sore enemy. To know that love is what matters and chase pleasure, success, or anything else instead. To get caught in the strings of desire and have the tangled eyes of a scarecrow. It’s really quite difficult to live by the word you speak. Truly. The tongue is a slippery one that’ll get you into trouble if you don’t watch out. Endless words. Drooping, dripping, drowsy words. They fall from our lips without much thought and linger like they’re made of something heavier than air. You don

I caught my arm on a thorn and watched blood flow across my skin like rhododendrons that figured out how to run. Wincing, I watched the race. She patched me up and I got to look at her as she wrapped me in a veil. Parts inverted. The way new demeanour uncoiled itself with each spin of the bandage around my arm. Eternal life, that’s what’s promised in the prayer-eyes of the deadman. To live and wonder for more. To die and wonder the same. Paradox, everywhere. To seek fulfilment and treat ourselves like a sore enemy. To know that love is what matters and chase pleasure, success, or anything…

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