A literal moment.

A foreign place. Full of life except yours.

A wind that blows that cannot pick you up.

A wind that blows that cannot slow you down.

Hair unkempt.

Makeup undone.

A mind unsettled.

This place.

This foreign place.

This tomb of ill placed memories

A plane above.


Always arriving. Why not departing?

Why not being an other.

A Place?

A Memory?

A Time?

Here and there, willing me to another aspect.

Always on this hill.

Like Sisyphus at night,

Urging for the morning to never come.

Lest that boulder take on another inch,

knowing that it must.

And it will.


Video Password : stasis

Justin Batchelor