Self and reality. Symbol and language. Myth and image. Memory and consciousness.
Dream and unreality: locus communis.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Nothing to Say

Almost lost track of the time, of the day— so, in a twisted sense, I have nothing to say.
Wet day. Twelve hours of mist and halfrain. A steady coat of water. A steady presence of grey.
Tonight, some kids are in the streets, in the yet-to-be-built portions of the subdivision, sending off fireworks left over from New Year's. I hear the dull rumble every so often as I read.

Only able to finish a sentence or two, then the familiar crackle and screech in the distance.

No comments:

Post a Comment