j o h n  r o s

something from the oeuvre or to steps right, west, downhill… there seemed little else to do for this remnant, lost in time and memory — nostalgia in subtleties and repetition — loss and the search.

in hiatus steps shuffled forgetting the starting point of the one before, however the obsessions would underlie, maintaining the absence and presence of sound and sight — contorted, paralyzing fragments — seeking little, asking nothing.

the irony of each passing moment continued with anxiety — freedom of the postmodern era — the constant void on which maintenance relied — and the continuum of mediocrity in a world that kept the battle fields full and the onlookers grinning.