To disappear into the fog, any fog, I feel, is to write an unwritten text
because entering the fog marks a headless ending.
By taking a step forward into the fog,
one’s shoes become displaced by their foamy hesitation: to move forward is to foam.
To move backwards is to remember.
Remembering what once was before the foam,
the remembering of thoughts through movement
before images project the thoughts of thinking movements.
but … remembering to forget?
how does one remember that physical movement also moves through thoughts
and that thoughts, or rather the arrivals of thought,
and by change I mean submersion,
the subversion of mechanical movement/
the movements of objects and the places from within objects
as caves that can be use(d) for seeing the inside of seeing.
This is an immersive vision that moves through emotions
as they slide and drip or twist and stretch
across the eyes, screens, silences or empty rooms
curved hallways, darkened back-alleys and quiet corners
These spaces, these rooms gather
like places — places without spaces
Spaces without places,
like thoughts that become shelters,
darkened caves, places to inhabit, far-away distances.
Either way, the night is long
and we’re here alone,
alone in this room
the room where there is no room.