Skip to main content

this is not my memory

My friend was talking about a painting by Magritte, of a pipe that is not a pipe. Straight into my head, with calm fidelity, I saw an image of a pipe, floating in space - the sort of pipe water flows through, with a right-angled bend in its shiny metal. I looked up the painting, to be sure, and I'd got the wrong sort of pipe all together. It was not a pipe, but a pipe. Hmm... Maybe I was thinking of the cover of Mike Oldfield's Tubular Bells? Out comes the phone again. Closer! The background is as I imagined and the material is similar, but still no pipe. Unsurprisingly, this floating monolith is a triangular tubular bell. So where did I see the pipe? If I did see the pipe. Which is of course not a pipe (of any sort) anyway...




Magritte - This is not a pipe

Tubular Bells album cover




Labels

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

We Are Walking

We are walking in a wood. To our left I see paper in the process of dissolving in a pool of water. You are wearing a long, beautiful skirt, that I haven't seen you in before, which occasionally swishes against the clumps of newly fallen leaves. Above, the wind replies. Nearby, to our right, but out of sight, water burbles by, though the ground we walk on is gradientless. Birds chatter music all around, enjoyably consuming lingering summer insects. There are no further away sounds. We have walked like this for years, extensive explorers. Stronger. Interlinked. A twig snaps. You turn to me with a well-known, warm, calm smile. Let's keep going . 
Post a Comment
Read more

mirror the dark

darkness swallows the nighttime  flick   light flits from the ignored expanse.        midnight mirror misleads the eye amongst the gloom.       all reflections confound at night.     as i'm watching what light there is    seems to hover between the walls. clocks rush through hours in one tick.          i turn to look towards outside.     daytime window reflects sometimes - part-time mirror that in a mind       click can flip to being a hole to the outside.    i am trapped here in-between. as          what's before me stares blankly back, water creeps down my spine again.              as sun arcs,  changing light confounds. whether via mirror, window or air, and however you look, all light arrives distorted - it's the rogue echoes half-light dance, curving through the tur...
Post a Comment
Read more