Critical, creative and digital writingEcriture critique, créative et numérique

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09 02 2014  


I'm sitting on my balcony, wrapped in a light breeze that reaches 37.1°, the temperature of my body. I realise that the boundary between the latter and my environment is not located on my skin. Perhaps it doesn't even exist... My being is caught in the meshes of an ecopoetic fabric that extends beyond what I'm actually able to perceive. I live constantly in an imaginary place that mixes ecology and poetry. I'm caught in a multiplicity of spatial processes, in a materiality made of exchanges of energy and fluxes of information. The dry heat of Canberra leaves me no rest. It strikes me with blows that transform and re-form me. I'm entangled in this place that does not exist in my native language. So I build my presence in this other less familiar language, reforming my experience, shifting it from one state to another in an infinite regression. This is not a dream, but it looks like it. This is not reality either, at least not the one we usually think of. This is one reality, and it is mingled with my imaginary. I'm observing the movement of the foliage of the trees that border my apartment. This calms me, but mesmerises me at the same time. The movement is difficult to apprehend when one thinks rationally, so I escape from reason and adopt an attitude that makes me see the world differently. I see much more than what my eyes absorb, I feel. And it feels good... Sitting on my balcony, caught in an ecopoetic meditation. I'm writing these words. And I see life in sounds and images, in metaphors and similes. I see life through metonymy, where proximity imposes itself to similarity. That, too, feels good...