Melbourne / 14th of November 2012,
written on the floor of the Melbourne Museum
Shells of existence, it aches to think so much, it aches (yet simultaneously comforts) to understand the irrelevance of all thoughts. I feel safe with Alex. I am calm. I am looking at both everything and nothing. I am the all seeing eye. I am the oblivious onlooker. I am the constant thinker of heavy but minute, unimportant paths that may or may not have occurred. If my mind produces them with no seemingly correspondant stimuli, I accept this as a truth and move along. If I could primarily communicate through written form, I would say more. There is a depth and intimacy made possible through the scratching of a pen; the movement of a wrist. Words falter and often refuse their birth.