Dear sisters, As I start typing I also start counting and as I already pause my writing in order to count there are twenty-seven words and I think of what to make of this number and if these twenty-seven, now forty-four, words could have been used in a better way and now I have already used sixty words and thereby reduced the amount of words before reaching the given limit…
– with an eternal attraction to the maritime. Her hands in the lukewarm water, caress the scalp and the wet hair of the person whose hair she is cleansing. Gazing out over the sea, – conchs and pirates, by-gone monsoons fill her soul with sweet sadness.
The Utopian Space is not a clear image of the perfect world. It can be just the thought that other ways of living in this world is possible. It can be an idea with one foot in everday-life-reality and one foot in the reality of the dream. It’s the space in-between. The gaps between reality as we know it and the fixed dream. You can move within them but you…
Without words by making an image. Stitching time, fusing our bodies to a specific environment. In Malmö we will share in a stitching conversations in the Boarding school. Our poetic self is a joint body, we are a translator to words.
The wind She was born out in the wild, wide ocean She loves to play among the waves, in the trees and along the sandy shores She can be light as a cool breeze but also furious as a typhoon She moves in unpredictable patterns and can be seen in many places at the same time She connects the past, present and the future She travels from continent to continent…
