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rough_edges
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blown cherry
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is where we begin.
Two forms coming together, don't quite fit, but still sitting comfortably side by side.
Life jostles along, passengers continue to sit facing the windows, in happy ignorance of the lives arond them. Every now and then the life stops to let someone off, or let a new freak on.
The bumpy life-ride continues, taking people where they need to be.
But the life is bumpy enough to begin wearing at the rough edges that lie between the two forms.
"Friction is the source of all pleasures" a physics lecturer twice said to me.
Friction grinds away at the rough edges,
but this frictional force is an unpredictable one. No happy greek constants to slide neatly into the equation.
So the two forms weather and wear to the others shape while the bumpy life-ride takes them where they need to be.
Each bump, each pothole grinding another chip off the rough edge.
But does friction hold the unwieldly masons chisel? Each tap knocking away a sharp point, only to shatter the surrounding area leaving an equally unfinished surface in its place?
Or does it instead use the carpenters tools, the plane and the sandpaper. Blades aligned just so, shearing away the top layer of splinters to leave the perfectly smooth grain showing from beneath.
So the life-ride continues, taking people where they need to be.
The two forms in the back seat slowly come closer together as the frayed edges fall away.
The last stop on this ride is far off yet,
and the council hasn't resurfaced these roads in years,
so we simply wait to see whether the bumpy ride gives friction the fuel it needs to grind these forms down to nothing,
or if it sands down to smooth surfaces what were once coarse, rough edges, leaving the two forms seamlessly joined, if that can ever be possible on this "free-tickets today" of a ride.
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020903
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Elzbieta
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I'm a little rough around the edges
The well weathered sculpture
Chipped and scuffed by rough treatment
So still on the outside
With a heart of churing fire inside
Waiting for someone to come
With sand paper and remake me
Into the work of art that I know I am
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020903
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reitoei
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i pull out my dremel and screw on some sandpaper. no more rough edges..... perfect, polished, flawless. and so worthless. no surprises in texture. the same monotonous, mirror smooth surface beneath my calloused hands..
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020903
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amy nada
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it's a fallacy to expect to have them, yet there are crimes lurking when they are undeveloped, or under development. one must hold out for the adult. (musts and shoulds have their place, in this category.)
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100330
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hsg
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if you rub_a_rock_long_enough
it_will_shine
there_more_lives_than_days
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100330
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