Thursday, 9 July 2009

The colour of death with gravity the artist. (08)

I came across an enormous fallen tree that protruded slightly into my chosen path. I felt a sense of annoyance but immediately realised the futility of being annoyed at a tree. It's roots were solidified and compressed by a mass of indecipherable bric-a-brac. Their ends arbitrarily angled like a tapestry of tiny ideas and muscle fibres, broken at the end. It was quite hard to believe that roots so small once held up this gigantic hunk of matter. 

I am reminded of a song by Modest Mouse entitled 'Gravity rides everything' and believe it to be quite befitting in this situation, and in every situation I have ever experienced in my relatively short life thus far. 

I think of the numerous years this tree had been resisting gravity, and find it easy to relate this to my own legs, which makes me appreciative.

It also reaffirms my indignant viewpoint of physics being an almighty bitch.

Like a child in a sweet shop, I saw another tree (Yes, I was in a forrest at the time) and became vigorously excited in my eyes. This tree looked remarkably like an elephant. A nice find, as I had recently watched a programme about elephants. Incidentally, primer grey is the colour a human body turns after death. Not to sound too pessimistic to most people, it is simply an interesting fact. I find it hard to understand the taboo nature of death and its characterisation of morbidity (as in abnormal or unhealthy) Surely appreciation of the ephemerality of the human interpretation of existence heightens conscious experiences.

I had a fleeting aspiration and hoped that my insides were warm like the colour of butter.

I caught a glimpse of the sun, a white aperture through an envious canopy, and I realise how small I am. 

The forrest was a desolate place and I had a quiet suspicion that I owned the world. 

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