Zen and the Art

Synthesising the nostalgia for the inevitable passing of what is right there, here and now with what has already slipped over the horizon of consciousness. They’re shadows burnt into the screen, images flickering across my closed lids, memories that faded just as I was reaching out to grasp them, the condensate of evaporating dreams.

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Not so much Wordsworth’s spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings … recollected in tranquility, I have to painstakingly, forensically, reconstruct an imagined space from the dust map left by removed furniture, the didges and scuff marks on the woodwork, the stains on the carpet and the wallpaper, the bleached and vibrant plan left by pictures long taken down from the wall.

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