Hope Is Not Like A

Modern Life Is Moving Faster Than The Speed Of Thought, Or Thoughtfulness.

For Many Years, I Have Been Moved By The Blue At The Far Edge Of What Can Be Seen, That Color Of Horizons, Of Remote Mountain Ranges, Of Anything Far Away. The Color Of That Distance Is The Color Of An Emotion, The Color Of Solitude And Of Desire, The Color Of There Seen From Here, The Color Of Where You Are Not. And The Color Of Where You Can Never Go.

There Was An Assumption That Aerial Bombing Of Civilians In World War Ii Would Cause Fragile, Working-class People To Basically Have Nervous Breakdowns And It Would Paralyze The State. That Was The Logic Of Aerial Bombing. In Fact, It Doesn't Happen At All, But The Logic Behind Aerial Bombing Has Never Stopped, Even Though It Never Demoralizes, Terrorizes, Or Paralyzes A Population.

The Desire To Go Home That Is A Desire To Be Whole, To Know Where You Are, To Be The Point Of Intersection Of All The Lines Drawn Through All The Stars, To Be The Constellation-maker And The Center Of The World, That Center Called Love. To Awaken From Sleep, To Rest From Awakening, To Tame The Animal, To Let The Soul Go Wild, To Shelter In Darkness And Blaze With Light, To Cease To Speak And Be Perfectly Understood.

Many People Nowadays Live In A Series Of Interiors...disconnected From Each Other. On Foot Everything Stays Connected, For While Walking One Occupies The Spaces Between Those Interiors In The Same Way One Occupies Those Interiors. One Lives In The Whole World Rather Than In Interiors Built Up Against It.