Front? A corridor. A wait.
Bleached light and neon: I'm pale.
but eyes
only adapt
to white light in only one place:
purgatory
After a 4 corner, rigurous model,
time is generated
floor tiles are generated
the square of both is generated.
Only here you can stay waiting for something to happen... and it ever won't.
In the corridor.
While i am waiting, opaque sweat permeates the thick glass.
We and it are alike: wherever it is we do not want to look... we grow a pane of glass
which, when stared into
doesn't stare back.
neither forth
Long, skinny legs strapped to the massive advisory board
It is clear what lies inside:
grades, reports - we want to see -
declarations, tables
sticked and thrown and dangling
in a mess;
the access window is open
the unwanted air
the unwanted space is pulled into a fan
Not thrown outside... but burrowed inside.
oh, what relief that it works without stopping
after all, who would want to drawn in shallow water?
Around. It seems everything resembles us
but this us I do not see
this is me
and
this is the corridor
The only place where you can stay inside
all your life