[Beautiful textures by Original Art Studio and Flypaper Textures]
I can't remember a time when I didn't love words -- like Thomas, I tumbled for them at an early age and have been tumbling for them ever since. I hear that some people think in pictures, but I never have -- I think in words and have odd words and phrases floating in and out of my head all day, a sort of "Greatest Hits" from a lifetime of drinking words in as if they were a 15-year-old Armagnac, rolling them around on the tongue, feeling their warm glow as I take them in. At any given moment, if we were able to do a Vulcan mind-meld, you might hear echoing around in my dark cranium:
. . . Tarquin's ravishing strides . . .
. . . the multitudinous seas incarnadine . . .
. . . alabaster crematoria . . .
. . . Westron wynde, when wilt thou blow . . .
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. . . yondir boyes in hir bryghte weedis . . .
. . . on the most on the molde on measure hygh . . .
Many, but not all, of my "floaters" come from Shakespeare; many, but not all, are poetry, because poetry by its very nature has a high pleasure-to-word ratio. But I like prose, too: "Isn't it pretty to think so" (Hemingway), "and so we beat on, boats against the current . . . " (Fitzgerald), and bits of Joan Didion have taken up permanent residence in my head.
I think photography can be equally as compelling as words, but I'm still compiling my Greatest Hits in that category. But sometimes I feel like I'm capturing words in an image, like this one that makes me think of Ezra Pound:
[Textures by Kim Klassen and Flypaper Textures]