| dewy decimal |
2003-05-08 - 3:58 p.m.
I do not know the city. I follow its smell which is like the spectrum of colors...of light
R+O+Y+G+B+I+V=white light
The city smells of white lights.
Tonight, I�m going to throw all of my clothes out of the closet. Construct a colorful heap at its base. Like kites mangled in a breezy cough. I will push my hands into the colors and pull out something I feel like laughing in. Something monumental, mememorable, an item with language.
I do not know the city.
Tonight I will crawl through the suburbs in my sputtering autobahn. I�m going to pick up Twan and in this town with no scene , we have known the people, their content slouches, their ruminations about evening. It becomes a room full of love affairs, a church full of funerals.
I will know the city. And inside of that great white light, I�m going to look back at the suburban bars, clacking with the sounds of flip flops in the rain. And what I�ll see then, which I don�t see now, will be a spectrum of colors, standing on their own.
Where from other contients you can see the stretching of several remarkable rainbows.