(Untitled)
Titian-haired wet-dog roaming the streets (wag). In the rain the damp grey stones steal the sky, steelsky, everywhere stones. Walk faster, coat against the cold, pulling black fur tighter over eyes (melancholy, black dog). Walk faster
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This predication, in such synchronic times, suggests, I think, that real longing to be able to be able to not be so alone in what we've experienced. We want to not always have to explain color to the blind, we want some way to be at home with another. It so rarely happens, but I think the thought is that, if we dogear enough of the pages, some of us might end up in the same paragraph. Once or twice in a life time the same words, or the same smudged ink of the same letters.
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