Substanti.elle (by F.w.) The sea filled in this silence that we could not prevent. From this silence vain. Wide. A vision arises from the mind. A half-blind. Sabine’s gulls. The writing. Confusing the determination with the mists of slumber before the impropriety of the ultimatum. The flight. Brown hair that stir with the motions of the sea. At the edge of the salt, the night between the knees. The liveliness of the wind. The liveliness of the vacuum. Lay a finger on this horizon that inflates. You have to imagine. Subtraction. If the hand advances. The shadow of the words. The dead skin. You are on each side. In « perpetuality » movement where the reflections are torn. In the radical suspended where we learn that we can no longer receive. By disconcerted lack. I know that the stars have lost their breath. The light comes as an expression in the brackets of glass. We could sleep while dreaming because the instinct is indistinct. The night and all the other now. Different night since. The night where walls no longer exist. For hours. Hang. Translucent shrimp have suspended their eggs in mucus. Thousands of little things stir in the sand before usuray. In thought, unnecessarily. Dust of sand, dust of thought. How many things providential.
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Substanti.elle (by F.w.)

The sea filled in this silence that we could not prevent. From this silence vain. Wide. A vision arises from the mind. A half-blind. Sabine’s gulls. The writing. Confusing the determination with the mists of slumber before the impropriety of the ultimatum. The flight. Brown hair that stir with the motions of the sea. At the edge of the salt, the night between the knees. The liveliness of the wind. The liveliness of the vacuum. Lay a finger on this horizon that inflates. You have to imagine. Subtraction. If the hand advances. The shadow of the words. The dead skin. You are on each side. In « perpetuality » movement where the reflections are torn. In the radical suspended where we learn that we can no longer receive. By disconcerted lack. I know that the stars have lost their breath.

The light comes as an expression in the brackets of glass. We could sleep while dreaming because the instinct is indistinct. The night and all the other now. Different night since. The night where walls no longer exist. For hours. Hang. Translucent shrimp have suspended their eggs in mucus. Thousands of little things stir in the sand before usuray. In thought, unnecessarily. Dust of sand, dust of thought. How many things providential.

Source: Flickr / strombe

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