Wednesday, January 21

Chronotopes.

We were all snowed in, thick unyielding white, and now our climate's run it down to asphalt, marrow, like a slow machine.

I keep looking for signs of age, I cultivate my own wrinkles; fine lines expanding from my corners. Folded skin in girls and receding hairlines in boys, conservative dress sense turning us into circus clichés. I seem unable to differ infatuations from heroes, catch my fancy peering from your grave, byronic protagonists.

Doesn't this hammer the ground of our understanding, –
   Our fundamental differences
   Oxymorons
   Our apparent insight

Who are your heroes?

3 comments:

  1. Tormod Haugen, I guess. Tor Ulven. All the authors of books I've loved.
    (If this wasn't a rhetorical question.)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Not rhetorical!

    I agree, I idolise my favourite writers too. The word is such a simple yet mysterious thing. I am always struck dumb by the way some people make it sound beautiful, meaningful.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Динозавр мультфильм / Dinosaur

    ReplyDelete