This morning, I have reached the last page in my notebook.
objects without qualities
individual agent of minutes
Ceaseless habits substituting embrace
inclusion denied usually
Fortified upon wish
Deriding my satiation as OTHER
Days exist as finite monsters
Convince clocks and fashion a time
denying submission to the abusers
leaning on clock hands
resting on results unanticipated
Produce within fruitful conditions
My days are numbered here--10 to be exact. I have taken the title for the above verse from an "object project" at PAF, that I contributed a tiny bit of time to.
The other night, I made a list of the artists that have come and gone, since I have arrived and there have been about 20 individuals, three couples, and two large groups groups--some with ten, some with seventeen...a revolving door!
Federica left today and she said that it is unfortunate because she is only now beginning to feel at home. These things take time. I was sitting in the garden a few evenings ago, and inhaled the gray night and exhaled deep comfort. Only within the week. I was surprised to discover that there may have been an absence...or perhaps, a growing fulfillment.