It must have been one of those nights spent home alone, when I realized there were words whose breadth I couldn’t quite fit in. They always sounded louder than anything else spoken. When written, they gathered all the attention and distorted the meaning of their neighbors, and I felt the embarrassment one feels when witnessing egoistic bastards climbing over their peers’ shoulders. So I put them down on a list, and crossed them out of my vocabulary. It didn’t take long before I was tearing away entire pages and ran out of formulas to demonstrate affection and appreciation.
By showing you these pictures, I wanted you to see I can still spell out the grays, despite this little vocabulary I’m left with. They are rough and thick, puzzle tiles that won’t fit unless strained. They bear none of the grace of the emptiness they’re supposed to represent, but they’re mine. Again that stupid practice of trading possession for existence. Nevertheless, this is now part of my daily routine. The final result is obviously silence, and we do all know how silence sounds like, still I want to get there and hear it resonate on, through, and past me.
Things have been smooth recently, but the white is so blinding at times, I have to lay down with the palms on the eyes, and the mouth open, hoping no one asks why, and no flies pass by.