When the towers built in triumph have crumbled and getting on together is all that is left to do, it’s hard not to wonder what becomes of all these accumulated objects, the stuff we made and gathered to us, floating among these indeterminate moments of porous inheritance. Maybe then we will prefer what has been passed from one hand to a second and the next in ongoing fragility, a reminder of our own impermanence and the way that there is more that can be made of wearing what was torn and then mended, than to lament that it is no longer new.
The objects among us.
9 thoughts on “Handling”
I dig the density in that. Bit of the ol’ mic droppage there, Ms. Johnson ——— well done!
Bill, thank you!
The never ending cascade of crises often makes me wonder what’s the point of our microscopic lives. Surely nothing matters anymore and we’re all just marking time until Armageddon.
I share this wonder with you, Jeff. I suppose that the proximity to so many ends is what makes me inclined to think that everything matters.
Probably a much better way to look at it.
That’s me in a nutshell
… worn and torn 😎
Metaphor and compelling,I applaud how you challenge the mental aspects
Thank you so much for this. : )
You are a stunning soul