the gold along the oiled coast
8 February 2010 § Leave a comment
No one has a grasp on time anymore. The baby’s wail is a dry and constant sound – not high enough to truly irritate our senses, but consistent. It is just past the realm of drone, barely into that of Annoyance. And thus, we must focus our attention to it. It demands us.
The darkness is getting to be less now, but without a sense of balance, the nights are just as long. There are nightmares here, and there are monsters under our beds. We have reason to be scared. There are criminals of every set of laws about, and they expect with pride an impact stemming from their salesmanship and service. We require them for our entertainment and our fear. Discussions will severely suffer without their existence, their penetration into our lives. Unless they are one in the same.