Light kills searching for all the little details on the rocks. When it's dim, I've felt I could see something else and that belief had constituted a sense of truth. A raw sensation that faith is based on, Only when the light goes up, it disappears, a bare texture lays flat on the wall. A fugitive nuance that had been toiling in my mind ever since. When I saw Sara, her round shoulders flatten, a movement that I detect in the dark. With the neon lights outside I almost wonder if we had achieved some prized darkness. That some erotic sensation was concealed here as the bright pink signs wink away into the street.
When I go out at 5pm, the sun plunges into the ocean. Ghostly neon blossoms into the night cleaning the shards of stars leaving only a blank slate, electronic hum. The buildings pallid like junkies blushing of colourful phosphorus. The night market's wares sometimes has a scar of white light reflecting off surfaces. Almost television static pure. No images come to mind but the reflection just under the shine.
YOU ARE READING
concourse
Short Storyphotographs and snapshots are all that remain in the urban square, haunted in geometric designs now almost without reason, no baroque pedestal that upheld severed marble heads. only forming ledges to compose stairs and boxes containing soil. somehow...
