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| We're too busy queueing for a Happy Meal to realize what we've left behind. All the pictures above were shot at The Natural History and Archeology Museum in Constanța. Sau despre cum suntem prea preocupați cu inte- grarea în finit să ne mai uităm înapoi . Când timpul se măsoară în bani nu ne mai permitem să stăm pe gânduri decât în rate. |
Showing posts with label Photo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Photo. Show all posts
owl williams
good nait, i've been trying to upgrade this shiznit blog for a while but still seem to be facing perilous difficulty in maintaning contact with section 456/7.1 of my existence, oh well, but as soon as i'll get a bit of internet on my computer and more clarity of mind i'll upgrade with some friendly hunter drawings and other such paraphernalia.
refrigerator fun
Untitled folders on the computer, empty desk drawers, revolving doors and all. Time's always ticking and talking. Maybe time's passing is our only certainty. Waking up just in time to watch the sun set, thinking you've probably woken up 2 days after. Wishing you'd stayed up long enough not to sleep the whole day. Battery lows charged in sunlight. Blue blue sky. Towers cut down the sky. Roofs are patches of skin. But through the cracks of the streets rays of glowing light burst and evaporate when they hit the asphalt. Orange-pink blue grey blurry sharp blades of soft light.
Advertising signs have already started blinking in the streets. Now the rays look like claws hooked to the clouds to keep the sun from falling. Everything. Ripples, drops, making their way back into the sea, the ocean. Filtering a base vibration. Ice caps melting, economy crisis hits, general melt down. Some things are connected some are too disconnected, no web of care or understanding to connect them. Rosebud. Copy paste, people dancing like people they see on TV, looking like what they see in magazines and posing like models every step of the imaginary way. born slippy. sliding doors, doors that open from the floor, cold old floor. Brrr, energy buzzing, some sounds always in the distance even with supposed deep silence, i guess silence is hard to hear in the city. dirty epic-underworld. Jjjjj, sounds in our vocabulary composed and ordered, out of their multitude to form a base and then the branches of music stretch further away, from roots to the whole, veins pumping clay drops of honey to seep through our nest of insides. Mirror mirror on the wall, what lies inside me?
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