it's back to the goddamn drawing board.

i was just thinking about the day I asked you what your name was..
what a strange day

and if what was written down there were to be a song,it would sound something like this




☝courtesy:sukhbir singh sagoo

yoyo ramble relief

how many paths must I stray away from so I don't have to see you again.
.
you from the attic in the hill with the honey jars, you,of the cocker spaniel dreams,
of the home on the twin hills,of the horses..
.
you in the clothes store trying on the clothes I knew you'd fit just by seeing your photographs, the clothes which would have fit thAt loved one. you were that loved one, and you've never met me,but I knew,I knew you fit better into the frames I was being rammed into..do you know your photographs are still up there?
.
.
and you from the streets of Pune, you of the scrawled on wooden table tops,you of the war time tomb stones,you,you who had no questions.
.
and what about you of the wheat in the football fields,do you know about the film I shot in those same wheat fields?will you ever see it?
and you and you..

I don't mourn you
but you are parts of me still walking solitary ways
how many paths must I stray away from so I don't have to see you again.

month after a shoot and it starts all over again.
the pictures have started connecting in my head
fiction.. a story,this time
it's dusty in the pictures
these ancient silent figures seem to have found their outlet
I seem to only be a facilitator
facilitating with no compulsion
working in automation
drawing on some deep quiet vessels of calm
one step to the next
.
.
slow
.
.but I move

and I can still tell what doesn't fit.

kokoschka..