sewing skins
my broken tongue
from one to another
pain on display
your heart on my skin
in the arms of a river
what if we could read each other's mind? would that be a good or a bad thing? Perhaps both? in the arms of a river, my stream of consciousness spilled onto the walls as I was blindfolded for four hours. in a quest to explore vulnerability & censorship, it unraveled thoughts on being scared, on racism, on the vietnam war, on my choice of sandwich in the afternoon, my tired hand, conversations with the visitors, conversations I picked up from the visitors & so on. the same hands that manifested the words into the space, also brushed the words out of existence. just like the thoughts, quickly they disappear.
I wish you knew me by my name
Văn Lang
Pictura Dordrecht, 2020