Colours and Noise
September 17th, 2015
The glittering new grey on your windows, so you can look at the tragic comedy of the world through the fine framed glass squares. Between which the brass coloured winds blow up into the interstellar space. So the rain acquiring each and every colour that has been or will ever be, can pass onto the grass, making it deeper green, onto the pavement, giving it its grey essence; under the planks of your red house, where sun don’t shine, making things rot, making shit rot, so you have your hands full next or the double next year, ripping the old ones off, nailing some new, wood colour ones, to paint it red again. Why does it drip? Why does your house act as if it’s bleeding?
I’m seeing red again!
The rain floats down, meets the river, water of unnameable hue, all hues as it were, not all of the rain, though. Move your hand in patterns formed through triadic memories, oh, memories of nothing happening, the best nothing of all. If the edges of grey cross the border invading the whiteness of the inside, be sure to check them in place, add white with hairtips of a brush, that has never brushed before – all must stay clean inside, so as not to let the tragedy make her stand up right in your face. Keep that outside. Shh, says the painter, his fingers and palms red, his smile must be hiding something else besides a few rotten teeth. Might be the pink of the inner skin, interskinnar place.
Red! Who’s seeing what?! I’m seeing none of that.
The glass gets some drips, scrape most of them off for the master, leave few for a boy, who dreams golden at night. Dark as the drainpipes are black. Sucking the rain that acquires all colours and some shapes, covering it with the blackness to save it from the yellow death hovering in the sky blue sky.
Can’t see red no more.
Must be far from the insides that frame the outsides so fine. Here the bench, at the border of comitragical world, your eyelids heavy from work, close that. Last traces of colours flickering away. The silence, fuck that!
The noise.
Comments are closed.