The sun is behind the people. They become silhouettes. Details emerge on the fringes of their physicality. A shadow with a halo, a face turned like a Victorian cameo portrait.
I'm at the centre of a machine. Many rhythms. The striding, the shuffling, the look, back and forth. Estuary birds on a concrete shore.
What we all want is to glide, through the light. We want existence to blur. We want to feel so much that it blanks us out, wipes us clean.
We want the trip switch. The blown fuse. The sound of static. The hush of the sea. Do you understand what I'm saying sir?
Who would want to find yourself when you can get lost.
A forest of light.
An empty village.
A wasteland of broken asphalt.
The lines of traffic and the steady metronome of the wiper blades in synchronization.
A childhood taste, a wireframe drawing in green blinking LED, the churn of the sea building like a pendulum in reverse.
This is sanity. A big load of trashy old noise.
All is behind gauze.
Everything thing frozen as if on the point of collapse or explosion. Suddenly the taut metal will buckle upwards with a whiplash crack. The bricks will come loose, one by one, faster and faster, a droplet to a flood The trees will bend to a hurricane force.
A child shyly smiles. The pine forest stretches for eternity. The sun rises forever. There is so much darkness beyond the sky.
God is streaming in numbers. Unknowable, unseeing and uncaring.
I can't feel anything and i don't want to either.
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