Threads Residency - July 2018 

 

The out of synch dancer of words..

 

The musician with a half-finished tune

 

The forgetful writer…

 

 

 

The blinded fool of admiration, the regretful belief in a walking machine.

The system is malfunctioning - looking over to  the sliding door, there are flashing lights of luminous red.

 

There is a feeling, a sense of such where you predict the next words that appear from a mouth. The next few seconds become hours, a pool in which you wait. A whirling mixture of hope with the constant whirring and preparation of disappointment. There is no award for being right, no gratification..