I finally escaped Lens Island. I finally survived it.
A place clouded in visions...the architectural heritage of a fragile mind tiptoeing on the verge of insanity. I crashed my aircraft years ago onto the shore. I walked the island and its hideous landscapes. All the beaches were vague, stained by the glow of lenses. The water was stale and thick. Doors emerging from the sands, eyes in the sky…eyes everywhere, gazing at me from the unknown. I escaped them. I survived the horror of the island, its flowers, its incomparable beauty.
Touched by a million hands, observed under a thousand lenses...acres of skin craved to be desired. I felt them as a sole presence. Horrible soft hands, dancing in multiplicity.
Unity of the gaze, magnification of the flesh.
I finally did it- by skin and bones and will bent.
My eyes, I’m home.
The Pilot, 11 May 1970
Each of my dreams and each desire
Belongs to whoever had it, not me.
I am my own landscape,
I watch myself journey -
Various, mobile, and alone.
Here where I am I can't feel myself.
Belongs to whoever had it, not me.
I am my own landscape,
I watch myself journey -
Various, mobile, and alone.
Here where I am I can't feel myself.
F.P
F I N
