spuytenduyvil

Explosion and reconstruction are the two things Yasmin the Light does deliberately, with full knowledge and skill, whenever the sky is glittering and black, starless and calm. There is Yasmin, a scattered mass of intelligence, and there is Profi, above the pine jacaranda maple aspen trees. This story is a drawing of flightless birds trying to fly, a song for our fathers, the way hair grows sporadically, repetition without knowing, a history written and rewritten without human intervention, the time of the Intercessors and starless nights. Above all there is light. Natural and artificial, bright and dim, pinpoints and floods. Even in glittering blackness of the starless night there is light. In Eits, Profi and Jasmine witness and stand mesmerized within the snow. Contagious and dry, in the dark, between thought and thought they will offer everything curved into light barely noticeable. They are the ones who will consider the stars, moon, explosions, snow, birds, and bands of light. Consider the Intercessors.