11 February 2008

Writing letters, and scrapbook pangs

A black file stares out of the window absorbing every colour. Paper cuts and pen-knives sharpened smile at some sticky glue. Creation. Evolution. Religion defied. Graffiti of microcosms develop a song. Words merge with colours, pastels with pencils, pens with paper, and music with thought. Rationality defied, yet hanging in the back of my mind. Reminders. Work. Wonders and beauties.
When you think you've understood the world, new beginnings end and new ends start. A beginning will always end and an end will always start. Let the colours flow and love black too. Nice, it is! Letter writing and scribbling carries on. Pigeons fly in cyber space finding random files. CDs and pen drives, remote controls and luxury cars roam about the roads. Zooooom! Vroooooom!
Keep your hands together. Tie them behind. Then, wave them. Call everyone near, where they belong, here. Within you and without yourself in them and with them in you, we live. Ears and noses sing. Lips smell and necks curve. A cut out poster stares across the room. "Colours," it cries.
Spaced in...

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