my own beautiful dark twisted fantasy |
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As the day grows older, there is more. More light. The light is ambient, more real, more penetrating; like each individual photon of light had doubled in weight and density. A little later, it grows old. A beautiful washed out pale, the most eye opening sepia that only nature can produce streaked with lines of black ink, like a drunken Japanese artist moving in a trance. From my large window that opens out into the heavens, I watch the sun droop precariously, painting the sky a brilliant light pink and blue, spiralling inwards like being drawn in by a black hole. Now it�s dark purple and orange, thunderous wraith of deep seas with a blazing ball of egg yolk orange, and I watch it sink reluctantly over the edge of the world right in front of my eyes. There is nothing like driving through the slow slumber of twilight and dusk. I�m driving through my own beautiful dark twisted fantasy. |
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