№2 la ligne de vie
№3 faire bien le travail
№4 donne de toi
~ trompe-l'œil æssemblage art & essay by Michael Douglas Jones
The Line of Life
Tucked inside a pocket of my soul coat, deep behind my weary heart, I carry the ancient pages; fragments mostly, of stories told across the oakwood smoke of low winter fires, from fathers to sons, from nursing mothers to every baby born. The stories of those that worked the line of life, alongside their kith and kin, and gave generously to each and all; their small deeds growing like sown seeds through the generations,
So, walk with me through the cities unseen, out beyond the empty stone towers. Carry no coins; sow seeds that are not for sale, along the side roads and forgotten railroad tracks and timber trestles on the west side, the wrong side of town, in the fallow fields where your fathers once grew cash crops of cotton and cover crops of red clover. Plant fruit trees and berry bushes close to the path, and know that someday, off from the distance, a hungry soul will walk that way seeking sustenance. Plant ideas of days where there is only one of us, and that is all of us, and all of everything there is, and know that someday, off from the distance, a hungry mind will walk that way seeking solace. Your name shall be alongside those in the ancient pages, and I shall be the annalist, to write your name forever.
~Michael Douglas Jones
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