Borges.

[wolven7]

Your mind turns a familiar corner, and you swear you've been here, before, seen this hallway before, but your name, your scent, your essence is nowhere to be found on these walls you built. Mortar you mixed, created, sweated together.

Invisible, visible, house-like, made of words, time, thoughts, the way a light hit a windowpane, and then you read a line, trailing into yourself, Spiraling inward. Labyrinths.

Descriptions of personages rarely mean as much as they themselves meant, though they should say so much more than the personages themselves would say.

No matter how well you describe me, you will always be wrong, because, in your act description, you leave out the essential, distributive, interpretational core that is me. Even as you embody it.

Ain't we just.

Comments

[unknownbinaries.livejournal.com]

Descriptions rarely mean as much, but become so much more. Like a stylization, like a sweeping curve almost accidentally, elegantly defining a face or the line of a back...

[wolven.livejournal.com]

Trying not to push this too hard, because every time I do that, lately, I feel like I lose something important...