Theme
Sand and Stone
how far I was from writing when I traveled in landscapes of dust
the poet and the architect
is the poet closer to understanding place than the architect? can the poet see the light as life as moving time the white patches on this wall as reflections of the sea?
the poet and the architect
is the poet closer to understanding place than the architect? can the poet see the light as life as moving time the white patches on this wall as reflections of the sea?
Stone Heads
standing still in water in their frame of basalt from former times: the poles, like gentlemen turned into stone staring over water to the cranes of the old wharf where builders once built giant boats and launched them from the concrete
Stone Heads
standing still in water in their frame of basalt from former times: the poles, like gentlemen turned into stone staring over water to the cranes of the old wharf where builders once built giant boats and launched them from the concrete
shadow of light
light entered through the coloured holes blue and green and purple patches of time, turning around the tower a column caught moving moments that disappeared when the sun suddenly withdrew. she stood there on the concrete floor and someone saw her shadow that
shadow of light
light entered through the coloured holes blue and green and purple patches of time, turning around the tower a column caught moving moments that disappeared when the sun suddenly withdrew. she stood there on the concrete floor and someone saw her shadow that
theme: rooms
Georges Perec wrote: “What does it mean, to live in a room? Is to live in a place to take possession of it? What does taking possession of a place mean? As from when does somewhere become truly yours? Is
theme: rooms
Georges Perec wrote: “What does it mean, to live in a room? Is to live in a place to take possession of it? What does taking possession of a place mean? As from when does somewhere become truly yours? Is
Degraded travelogue
contribution by Viktorija Bogdanova Degraded travelogue “Ausencias” * I hear the groanings of a warm mountain scent, -solar flares casted through celestial pillars; the windows, filled with forest, birds and clouds are flowing under the wound, as your
Degraded travelogue
contribution by Viktorija Bogdanova Degraded travelogue “Ausencias” * I hear the groanings of a warm mountain scent, -solar flares casted through celestial pillars; the windows, filled with forest, birds and clouds are flowing under the wound, as your
Harbor
a harbor is a place to depart from the restless mind finds an anchor point in water, wind and expectation a harbor is a place to stay the contemplating mind stares from the quay to further coasts a harbor is
Harbor
a harbor is a place to depart from the restless mind finds an anchor point in water, wind and expectation a harbor is a place to stay the contemplating mind stares from the quay to further coasts a harbor is
some cities
some cities were founded by chance comfortably reclined against an old meander a protective hill, a vantage point crossroads for conflict and profit some simply piled up on the continuous rhythm of human tides layered atop one another in
some cities
some cities were founded by chance comfortably reclined against an old meander a protective hill, a vantage point crossroads for conflict and profit some simply piled up on the continuous rhythm of human tides layered atop one another in
the margins
One of the harbor cities in Europe in a constant process of transformation is Tallinn, Estonia. Simultaneously front and backside, the coastal area north of Tallinn city centre is an ambiguous place. In previous days the reason of existence of the
the margins
One of the harbor cities in Europe in a constant process of transformation is Tallinn, Estonia. Simultaneously front and backside, the coastal area north of Tallinn city centre is an ambiguous place. In previous days the reason of existence of the
Lozenge, contributed by Viktorija Bogdanova
How silently hollow are the bricks that flow through lonely walls, like a stony droplet over eyelashes, they pierce through every mortar scar, my soul is too narrow for your body, your thought is fractured by my feeling. Like
Lozenge, contributed by Viktorija Bogdanova
How silently hollow are the bricks that flow through lonely walls, like a stony droplet over eyelashes, they pierce through every mortar scar, my soul is too narrow for your body, your thought is fractured by my feeling. Like