The Old One Comes to claim his own …

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An impromptu, innocent and gentle crepus­cular walk in the grounds of Trelissick turns into an unexpected action movie plot point: a monstrous kraken hauls itself from the mire and lumbers, clicking and creaking and groaning, fingers its way across the sward … and we run … and I tip my camera over my shoulder in the hope of … and we are free … well, derrr …

And then today I was wandering across the apoca­lytic wastes around Geevor and was reminded of the obsess­ively claustral, sepulchral aesthetic of the geolo­gical vampires of our recent past.

door to the underworld
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Friends who’ve come here say: it’s not pretty — no; it’s so fright­en­ingly, danger­ously hard — yes; it doesn’t let you forget, does it — no; but it still slips its mineral veins deep into your soul like brittle mycelium — oh yes.

And wherever you go, the Bucca are watching …

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You can fly to the furthest reaches of the globe and fuck the future of our world, and ignore the politics and the ecology and the economics and … and gawp at the natural wonders of the world and tick off your bucket list scores or you can look around yourself, here and now, orient yourself and choose to belong and see the beauty and the depth and the magic of the place where you stand … and …

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cobble together a collage of 6 photos and try to say something about us, people, and the earth, and about the sea and history and hardship and pain and about home.

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2 thoughts on “The Old One Comes to claim his own …”

    1. finding and embracing the eye of the storm, the cyclone, the spinning, yawning vertigo, is a key that can help to orientate you in the plunging vortex of .. life … so they say 🙂

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