[The country thing is about horizons and emptiness and finding completeness in annihilation. It's about being real when you vanish, and real only then.
Yeah, you know what I mean. You know it. I can see it in your eyes.
The country thing is about the part of you that ceaselessly seeks reference. Here, we cleanse with soil. To cultivate, we cut. To fortify, we remove the fences. And to befriend, we find the other in ourselves.
Illogical? Maybe.
The country thing is about slow history, a painstaking obliteration of the past. You watch it happen by the year, by the decade. Even when it's gone, it's still there, an unreachable echo across the hilltops.
Here in the forests and river valleys live ancient gods—hawk-gods and possum-gods, parrot-gods, lizard-gods. Inscrutable as nature. Slow as evolution. They pay me no mind.
Who denies a place that absorbs your separateness imperceptibly, without question? That completes you without changing you? Maybe you, sucker. But not me.]
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