Every night I have the same dream. There’s this box, huge and sort of opaque. I can move around it, even up over it, and it’s massive, dominating the landscape. Well, I think there’s landscape, its a little unclear. The dream is about the box,
“You know this isn’t real, don’t you?” she said, slipping out of bed to gaze out of the window of The Room, silhouetted against the simulated landscape beyond. “Of course, but it is really lovely to pretend.” “I don’t mean the view.” I knew that.
photo by Greenland Travel Tweet
I’ve decided that I’m going to do the washing up properly today.
After all the fuss has died down, and the sound and the fury has subsided, remember this. In times to come you will be remembered by deeds set in stone, in paper, in thin chalk marks. A never-ending whizz of electrons may carry you to
From JF Sebastian, on Flikr Tweet
The colours around the window swirl and mix in a kaleidoscope of history. Here, a patch of blue, painted by an old man, making the house presentable for the funeral of his wife, their 40 years together now nothing but memories soaked in grief. There,