Take away the aspect of a pretender, a false sense of authentication and you remove the imitator. Modernist frames seem too perfect, smooth, and thought out. I prefer a simpler, clipped glass frame. Nothing distracts from the image. For a week now every tourist attraction lends itself to a coffee and a cigarette. The locals don’t seem to sweat, and the tourists linger in the sun. it was sitting down and observing the drawers mindlessly where I found a long-lost figment of my imagination. It had been lost but for the marble that surrounded me. I had been told the vibrant quality of marble amplified noise, language would bouncer from pillar to pillar. The actors loved it. The audience were in awe of the plays, and there I sat marred by the own actor living inside my head. Luckily the waitress interrupted. A family on the next table distracted me. By luck it was the distraction I needed from the realisation that I had grown increasingly introverted to find peace and to guide me through a proportionate struggle within the last four years. There wasn’t much between me and the marble. Even when I cried it wasn’t out of emotion, not on the surface, the figment is now a sense of direction. A moving, a playing and ultimately a cosmic dance.
Stanzas written in Dejection, near Naples.
or was it for the lack of trying?
this is why we love.
not to be replaced by a roll of cellpohane or a dream thats dying.
this is neither your validation nor your certification.
18.27 