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I seem to be suspending a lot lately. I can’t help but love the delicate threads suspending a bit of postcard within a larger postcard/watercolor. I don’t know if they will survive the mail, but of course I’ll try. The threads may be caught, the paper torn, the colors bleed… but what is the point of holding onto the spaces myself?
“From effect to cause — we trace our steps.
The effect is today. How, why, when,
go back, back, back: voyage sans baggage.”
-Louise Bourgeouis
The books are starting to come trickling in. The ether ones are rather hit or miss, what I really need is “Conceptions of Ether: Studies in the History of Ether Theories, 1740 – 1900” but it’s silly expensive. For no good reason that I can find, it isn’t that old, it’s just the perfect book for me so of course it’s out of reach. I’m just crossing my fingers that it was a required text for a course somewhere and it’ll be sold back come December.
More to the point is “Wonderwater: Alice Offshore.” I’m barely into the first, and already it’s making my mind tick. At the last phrase, sans baggage, I stopped. I carry a lot with me. Even when traveling light I have books, I have hats, I have yarn, I have paint, I have ink, I have I have I have. It isn’t heavy though. I don’t think I need it to get by. Still, a friend just decided to stay where he was without planning, and he’s left everything behind. The sheer loss makes me a bit ill. His books, his sketches, the notes he’s kept. All left behind. A life sans baggage, but it feels like a house-fire, self induced. Perhaps he feels lighter now, but I feel a bit scorched simply through association.
