UNTITLED
:: PR-049-en
A dense cloud of grey watery stuff hangs over our heads. These skies are heavy with moisture, and somewhere beneath the soft chirps of the evening birds cars rush by, and a train, and a plane too. There’s a constant buzz of machinery around us, inside of us, it creeps through our heads which are already numb from working and hoping for happiness all day long. Everywhere the lights are on, sadly attempting to shield off the ever-penetrating darkness that has been hunting our evenings and nights for as long as we can remember. We have made friends with it, allowed it to engulf us with its black sense of nothingness. A secret bliss, feared by many, loved by some.
2006
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