Life is the war to which we are all conscripted by birth, marched in formation from our mothers’ waists. We take up arms made of love and dreams and level them against the tyranny of eternity. As I traverse the roadway of our hardest battles not in grief but with gratitude, the blood of lost dreams lay spilled on the thirsty ground. It does not sink in but collects instead in puddles that reflect my own image. I kneel down, dipping my fingers in the warm red paint; I mark my cheeks with its hopeful hue and raising my dreams to the enemy of time, I promise to honour you.
nooze
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The Hemingway SHOT - Semi-finals at the australian independent film festival 2018. |
