Is it all real
I have been thinking
For a minute or so,
A experience prolonged,
One of those dreams
Departing from normal,
Exploring an empty room
And more inclined to stay a while
It is surely bewitching traveling along side of the river for most of the morning, knowing that I have another half to return. At a rare place I was able to turn off to see a crumpling brick building with enough flair that it warrants investigation. Of course it is kind of grotesque at first glance and I really meant to keep on going. But there was something worth watching for a while longer; hanging on to every side of the building my sights are bound to make sure I have witnessed enough of it.
Sure it was enough: an open door, opaque windows, a seemingly electric vibe that causes me to gasp. Now I am too lost in it; looking long enough and not having found anything else to linger over. This was my concerted plan: neither staying or being raptured about it, though it strikes me nonetheless. It has the same advantage of theater, except that nothing of it moves at all.
This one in particular holds its own: at any rate, I have not been moved to leave the area just yet. I want to have something to say about them: poetry or prose: the admission reaches deeply inside and I am at a more polite juncture. They need to be explained, this position a splendid one, converging lines holding steady from north to west.
There is at this moment nothing else to hold my interest, with the exception of rows of vines nauseatingly repeating. I just drove by several thousand at a glance, more or less resolute, and there is another ten thousand to go. Would the loss of any one of them mean that I might not be drinking wine tonight?
Nothing resists the invader’s mind; there is nothing to do but stop counting rows and explore the inside of this building for real. The passage from outside to inside is child’s play. There are rectangular opening at the beginning and end of this building, sidings held up in place by reinforcement, and the lines of full pained windows cut clean allowing ample sunlight to stream in.
This is the transient nature of transitioning from nature to artificial formation and back again. Step out, stepping back in it is though I am enveloped in a valley between steady brick walls. There is nothing narrow about this place; everything is changing with the reflections and shadows on the floor. It is a landscape: abandoned at all: the indefensible.
One arrives, one leaves. I saw more of this the longer I stayed: empty space with the freedom to become something, separate from the sky above and the ground below, letting me pursue it. It is even fooling me into believing that it is a middle distance between the sky and the ground, existing by and for itself.
My experience is not to be confuse for a greater conversation. I remained because I could not put my finger on leaving. I have long been accustomed to hanging around because I have a camera and a voice recorder, and staying just long enough that it could have gone either way.
This was my concerted plan. And in the greater ending I exchange my farewell greeting and leave with a lazy tolerance of business at hand. Sometimes it is just as hard to arouse me as it is to subdue.