what usually happens when I go somewhere is that I try to open up my pores and let things seep in. this time I go and come back and maybe that certainly happened too much, or there were other things going on. there is an absence of a reaction. momentarily dreamlike I also notice that I feel like I left part of me there, like always, this love of a place, this wish to stay, so on and so forth. photographs and haze and wide open spaces and the rush of cold wind, a cup of soup. on and on. iceland will be the taste of tired legs and the first sip of lobster/humar soup after sleet. and so on.
against this othering I resist and what comes afterwards is this aristotelian middle ground of acceptance. it's alright. faced with nature you can close your eyes and call this different. alternate.
from iphone. film to come soon.