Monday, February 9, 2009

Konza rambles -- part I

[crunch crunch crunch crunch footsteps]

  • “January somethingth, cold. Really, really cold, and windy, big watercolor skies, but…

[breathe, laugh]

“That’s what I kept thinking -- big watercolor skies…(God, my hands are getting cold, holding this tape recorder.) But it’s peaceful, I needed to come, I had to come, I…

So I’m out at Konza. Obviously. There’s nowhere else to go.

“(Crows in a field, just staring at me, lifting from the trees.) And it’s incredibly quiet. And lonely.”


“Grey. Brown. And the grass is sort of waving. (Just crossed the bridge.)



“It’s a little weird to be saying things out loud. And wrapped through a couple of layers of scarf. (My glasses are fogging up too.) But I guess I have this continual monolog running through my head anyway. To articulate it is sort of odd – the words are just tumbling out. But that’s why I walk – because it’s a time to just let the ideas tumble out.

(“Fence poles, barbed wire wrapping around. I wonder how old those are?”)


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