Pores

The world gets into our pores and writes on us lines with the clay of earth, warmth of sun bite of wind caress ; sorrow & joy clog our faces with our insides, the experience of our lived Grind:connected. Existentially, we are slow-born sculptures that tell of a daring hand a fiery eye, laced with…Read more Pores

Narkissos

sooty secrets buried in black: bleak as beak. --- windswept wood, wild sweet orange, swan's neck swoops. --- carefully curated, beautiful mind hovers over clear blue sky, being. --- reincarnation of flightless, imagined love, figment-tied: lost. --- so a lone --- ---by Kate Gough ---17/8/17

Grey

  https://youtu.be/808nTiXLam8 I’m still in this place. Sometimes it seems I never leave. * Gallery, 2014 Imagine, if you will a gallery piece installed, a row of plants at progressing stages of growth, lined up in pots and flash-frozen in time, breathing cold puffs, crystalline almost synthetic. Imagine also the moment the exhibit starts to disintegrate, freeing gouged…Read more Grey

The Ever-Processing Machine

I can’t find my incense. I don’t want to write. I desperately want nothing more than to write. For ever. So then, perhaps I’m just a stymied masochist at heart(less), doomed to miserable inaction for the rest of my days. I do not dedicate myself as I should, as I need. . . There’s a…Read more The Ever-Processing Machine

Thoreau on the (Hu)man

"See how he cowers and sneaks, how vaguely all day he fears, not being immortal or divine, but the slave and prisoner of his own opinion of himself, a fame won by his own deeds. Public opinion is a weak tyrant compared with our own private opinion. . . Think, also, of the ladies of…Read more Thoreau on the (Hu)man

Bread Crumbs

Wrinkles sagging with weariness, Gretel June seated her crooked torso on the last clear surface in the house: a padded footstool. The world swam in complete and terrifying circles around her, and closing her eyes only made it worse. She felt a lump in her throat that had nothing whatsoever to do with her heart, and much more to do with her stomach. Everything swirled so fast! Ancient, knotted hands cupped a steaming mug of hot liquid, which she blew on periodically, but never sipped...

A New Proposition

-- "Faith is not being sure. It is not being sure, but betting with your last cent... Faith is not a series of gilt-edged propositions that you sit down to figure out, and if you follow all the logic and accept all the conclusions, then you have it. It is crumpling and throwing away everything,…Read more A New Proposition

Meteora (c)

0% c. Mary Kathryn Gough Black & White film 100 or 400, Jan 2005 Monastics used to climb up into these crags and crevices to pray and meditate. There were then monasteries built near the top of some, with wrist-thick rope nets let down on pulleys for visitors. Since then, steps have been carved into…Read more Meteora (c)