home-directory

2023

~ 7 mins

The digital fragments on my computer form countless winding paths back to a nostalgia with no end. With each return, I have come to realize that I have become a stranger, peering into my past more voyeuristically than affirmingly.

The cursor searches, probes, and points, morphing into a window, a pinhole, a screen within a screen, offering fleeting moments of clarity amidst the chaos of nostalgia within this flattened realm of time and space. Lostness is a constant companion along every step I take along this journey, as each retraced path only reveals yet another irretrievable, hazy, and oddly familiar home.

dust

screen and the

the hush of the

sound folds into

every small

of waiting and

soft grey field

wall becomes a

next unti works l the

one into the

the frames drift

afternoon we let

the shape of the

window remembers

somewhere a

reel turn about s and

hums and the

the projector

than it should

little longer

the light a

quiet room holds

season passing a

the beam like a

slowly through

dust moves

screen and the

the hush of the

sound folds into

every smal play l

of waiting and

soft grey field

wall becomes a

next until the

one into the

the frames drift

afternoon we let

the shape of the

window remembers

somewhere a

reel turns and

hums and the

the projector

than it should

little longer

the light a

quiet room holds

season passing a

the beam like a

slowly through

dust moves

screen and the

the hush of the

sound folds into

every small

of waiting and

soft grey field

wall becomes a

next until the

one into the

the frames drift

afternoon we let

the shape of the

window remembers

somewhere a

reel turns and

hums and the

the projector

than it should

a little longer

holds the light

a quiet room