TO SETTLE INTO A CRUST
And yet from this place of banishment, it confronts itself, moving back and forth through contradictions, a conglomerate of dust. Restless like an unavoidable boomerang.
Trying to rest there, maximum absorption, but still not wanting to be assimilated.
Beginning from another end. How long until the and then?
It exhales. Lifting its head, pushing its nose deeper, downwards. There’s a claustrophobic, introspective smell of roughness.
The surface is the only layer that is in direct contact with the outside. Crawling too close to truth might be dangerous, it might lead to downfall.
It might grow into a shelter.
Photograph by Charlott Markus, courtesy of P/////AKT Amsterdam