background

Cry for your seed

Cry your sentence

Before that happens...

It's because I get rid of my daily writing output by sprinkling it through the various niches of my creation that I sometimes manage to make something of it.

Every day I make sure I bring back a truckload of it and unload it on these pages so I don't have to think about it any more.

I thus make my land fertile and exhaust my need to write, which would be like a surplus of seed. I am paid in return when an idea comes to me, a desire, a desire for concretization that will give shape to a creation. But the direct link, from my head to the creation; no, that is not possible. I crave freedom. I can't work effectively under constraint... not even my own.

A LINE THAT VIBRATES, A SOUND THAT TURNS, THAT'S WHAT I'M USING TO COMPOSE MY RATION TODAY.
IN TRUTH, THAT IS ENOUGH FOR ME.

Weep for your seed | The Amor camps © David Noir

A small dinosaur vibrates the tip of its tail on a loop of sound that could be a prelude to one of those quiet, bucolic western scenes where the herds are happily running across the prairie, happy to be framed by such handsome young men on such neighing mounts.

Elsewhere on the page, a wigged prisoner looks concerned about his fate; unless he is bored, chained alone in his gaol.

A foggy image of rain echoes just above him. A pink storm of wetness gently threatens him.

There seems to be nothing to look forward to either before or after. On rainy days, one can dream of dinosaurs fading away before going to sleep.

Dino Western | Animation and music © David Noir

© David Noir ® | All rights reserved

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