± an atlas (love letter to michigan)

walden freeman

man created god creating man, and the wind blowing every chance it gets. being caught on tape caught on, and we began to think of film like spiderwebs and ourselves as insects. we graduated our cylinders, gave them our highest honors, ignored the results. flashes in the pans cooking meals for starving artists who want nothing to do with self-improvement or catastrophe. i walked alone through uncut front lawns in front of abandoned homes in my town thinking about how much the landscapes have changed not only below my feet, but way over my head. much of what i write is an homage to dead trees, which is why i use up as much paper as possible, save for modern hard drives making it commercial not to honor fallen forests. but time has been praised for not stopping and not even waiting around but secretly we all know it's never been truly tested and we're sure that if it reaches a serious detour it will turn back . . .

-james