"Where I live, the open space of desire is red. The desert before me is red is rose is pink is scarlet is magenta is salmon. The colors are swimming in light as it changes constantly, with cloud cover with rain with wind with light, delectable light, delicious light. The palette of erosion is red, is running red water, red river, my own blood flowing downriver; my desire is red. This landscape can be read . . . Can we learn to speak the language of red? . . . I want to learn the language of the desert, to be able to translate this landscape of red into a language of heat that quickens the heart and gives courage to silence, a silence that can be heard. I want to learn how to speak the language of red. Red cries out for the body; open the body and it bleeds."
Sunday, April 26, 2015
Where I live, the open space of desire is red . . .
"Where I live, the open space of desire is red. The desert before me is red is rose is pink is scarlet is magenta is salmon. The colors are swimming in light as it changes constantly, with cloud cover with rain with wind with light, delectable light, delicious light. The palette of erosion is red, is running red water, red river, my own blood flowing downriver; my desire is red. This landscape can be read . . . Can we learn to speak the language of red? . . . I want to learn the language of the desert, to be able to translate this landscape of red into a language of heat that quickens the heart and gives courage to silence, a silence that can be heard. I want to learn how to speak the language of red. Red cries out for the body; open the body and it bleeds."
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