the original ex movere
That’s the link to the first Ex Movere.
I firmly believe that the original project has value, but I have never been able to figure out what context that value may be explored. Truthfully some of the writing in there, when I read it over again… I mean sheesh, I don’t really believe that it’s me. I like the person who wrote those essays, I look up to him now. I hope I can get that voice back someday, that voice that just wrote and wrote without pause or breath in endless presto and panic and prayer.
I punctuated my life, in structure and starts and stops, with week end and alarms and clocks, and I stopped living at the fringes of society. I suppose what I was doing before may have been unsustainable, but damn if it wasn’t something special, at least to my heart.
The first Ex Movere was the product of every single thing that made up who I was and what I believed thrown as hard as I could into writing about the world as I understood it.
I’m not wiser now, I’m less wise, less clever and poetic. I’ve dumbed myself down to cope with life. Just writing that last sentence breaks my heart, but it’s honest.
And I can’t take a moment now and conjure it into something, infuse it with meaning and depravity and glamour. I don’t have time anymore.
If I’m writing again, all I can afford you is the truth, when it finds me.
I’ll invite you to check out Ex Movere, I posted the link… but please, don’t stay too long, it’s not suited to delving. It’s over-rich chocolate and black licorice and mousse that simply will never appeal to everyone, and if you have any stomach for it all, for christ’s sake, just nibble at it until you’re fed up and sad and you need to leave.
<3
