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Friday, November 25, 2005

Dirty Windshield

Always begin with a linear perspective and a destination?

The tree line had become a runway. My mind launched into nothing less than a sleep. I saw them. What did I see? The curve.

What of the in-between. That which was before and that which was after in this direction? The ordering of the pictures you see is not an attempt to defy linear narrative. Yet what is the relationship of foreshortening to linear perspective? What of the need to stretch the frame, to cheat the geometry of the linear?

Yes, telephone poles. UFOs or dirt on the windshield? The question of being flattened. For that question, a series of blurs, of bad lighting.

The aliens departed in blue blurs. I turned to watch them., or I would have turned to watch them, but I was driving and taking pictures.

The runway of tomorrow and yesterday proved a battleground. All of this activity needed a somewhere. But where? The dirty windshield? Or dirt, too much like desire?

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