Creamy florescence, palm tree ambience. Woven as it is unwoven: a beat. Vinyl crackle like buttermilk pancakes, oozed into the syrup poured down from the heavens.
From things to names to beats to things, an ongoing excavation, an ongoing exchange of perception, a thorough introduction of realities unexperienced by us. That “light fills the kitchen as I make myself a coffee” feeling of anywhere, but just merely shared, in a distance that will always fail us.
Swans, bees; Poland, China. Wherever, however, etc., as in everywhere, everywhere.
The feeling. Yes. Light in your eyes. Too much of it. But a smile, too.
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