"A book is like an axe to break the frozen sea within us", like Kafka on the rocks, armed with a book in hand you drift between rationality and mysticism as the clouds encompass you. Seated at the mountaintop, the characters and events of the literature form and vaporize through the fluidity of your imagination. The winds blow with little resistance, stroking the canvas, painting pictures with vapor, to their finest details only to vaporise again.
And like Kafka on the rocks, armed with a book in hand you drift between rationality and mysticism as the waves touch your feet and retreat in rhetoric. Seated on the rocks at the farthest point on the beach, away from everything, the waves rock you back and forth and although you are on steady ground you feel like you are on a raft being tossed with the words that you read, the sounds taking shape.
And within all that magic realism the art of motorcycle maintenance rephrases its rationality; as the frozen sea reveals tips of icebergs that are in need of maintenance. And maybe if some mechanic can work on that magic realism, poetry can be turned into prose.
And like Kafka on the rocks, armed with a book in hand you drift between rationality and mysticism as the waves touch your feet and retreat in rhetoric. Seated on the rocks at the farthest point on the beach, away from everything, the waves rock you back and forth and although you are on steady ground you feel like you are on a raft being tossed with the words that you read, the sounds taking shape.
And within all that magic realism the art of motorcycle maintenance rephrases its rationality; as the frozen sea reveals tips of icebergs that are in need of maintenance. And maybe if some mechanic can work on that magic realism, poetry can be turned into prose.
1 comment:
Good for people to know.
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