08 May 2008
he is risen: for he is not here
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images
A preponderance of religious imagery differentiates itself from the background of a clear blue sky, as the area around the peninsula gives up its plague pits and industrial waste in exchange for luxury flats and tidy marinas.
In memory of the uncounted millions of animals who died not of foot and mouth but of the cure for foot and mouth
A gently satanic goat watches over the small animal graveyard near the Cutty Sark pub and Habour Master's Office.
Building materials fall steadily like manna from heaven. Cranes are the new churches, whose worshippers have not yet arrived, and even less understood how it is they should pray.
An Opus Dei lamppost, punishing the sky for crimes committed against the weather.
A Crown of Thorns splays outward from the locked gate, looking north towards a factory chimney.
The cross cannot be carried by one man. The Stations of the Cross meet at the intersection between a cement factory and a disused warehouse.
Golgotha, rusting away quietly, somewhere behind the Millennium Dome.
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images
A preponderance of religious imagery differentiates itself from the background of a clear blue sky, as the area around the peninsula gives up its plague pits and industrial waste in exchange for luxury flats and tidy marinas.
In memory of the uncounted millions of animals who died not of foot and mouth but of the cure for foot and mouth
A gently satanic goat watches over the small animal graveyard near the Cutty Sark pub and Habour Master's Office.
Building materials fall steadily like manna from heaven. Cranes are the new churches, whose worshippers have not yet arrived, and even less understood how it is they should pray.
An Opus Dei lamppost, punishing the sky for crimes committed against the weather.
A Crown of Thorns splays outward from the locked gate, looking north towards a factory chimney.
The cross cannot be carried by one man. The Stations of the Cross meet at the intersection between a cement factory and a disused warehouse.
Golgotha, rusting away quietly, somewhere behind the Millennium Dome.
