Words of the Earth. It speaks, but says nothing. It speaks, but speaks silence, heavy silence.
Errant words, cast out of themselves. Indistinctly murmured. Reverberating with the earth. With the darkness. With the void.
Failing to begin. Passing into another time, where there are no tasks, no projects. Where time is lost. Where time is absent.
Fascination. Solitude. Alone, not with oneself.
The limitless. The remote. A place where no one can rest.
Nocturnal space. Where nothing can abide.
Night’s deep apparitions. The dark is not dark enough. The dead not dead enough. We can’t cease to see it. The incessant, that makes itself seen.
The phantom night. The unwelcoming night. The night that wants nothing to do with us. The night that does not welcome, does not open. Baseless. Without depth.
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Work in Progress 