Two clowns of one mind riding aimlessly, stopping where? What do they ride, and how with no saddle. Smiling as they pass the frames of other peoples solitude, why smile, some ask. Almost grotesquely they stare into others as they pass. Slowly they ride but surely they will stop. Not asking the question as they pass travelers upon their steed, but instead questioning the answer. Fanning away signs of oppression. Slowly they ride but surely they will stop. Elongated are their faces, though smiling, still long, with what? Weary perhaps of the road ahead, but never weary without a smile, they contradict themselves paradoxically. Soon to find their route is parabolic. Together they roam two clowns of one mind, never two paths always more. All of them circular, flowing as the wind, the current, and the veins of leaves in a circular pattern, slowly they ride but surely they will stop.
The 360 West Project 