Jun. 28th, 2011

wolven7: (Dream House)
I see, in written language, the diagram of a city, and, in the map of city streets, a conversation, a description, a name for itself.

The line of sight of a set of telephone wires intersecting their backdrop of clouded blue sky is a whispered word to you about exactly who what and where you are.

The rustle of a branch and leaves in the wind of the passing car with its engine growling low menace and its radio pumping music, talk, static, is a keen warning of things to come.

The way you look at her, at him, at hir, and the exact way xie doesn't look back at you, is a discourse on loss and memory.

The sense of yourself across space and time, the understanding of who and what you are now, juxtaposed against who and what you were then: A stern reminder that you're always more unaware than you think you are.

The intersection of any two or more things is a conversation.

Good night.

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wolven7

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