“The wind sounds like paper; our sex is no problem. The elms are as green and as fresh as oaks; we taste of aerial fluids and drugs. There are curious crystallizations; we are the dream of conflict. There goes the sun; we influence contingency.”
More from Lisa Robertson
“Next to this riot, most human love is wrong and stupid.”
“Now I see that continuity is the revolution.”
“Actual living trees are cinema.”
“My idea of myself relates to landscape's unimagined achievement.”