words
March 6, 2009White and Yellow curtain
A little stained
Held up by wire writing
I like the train ride.
But I used to like it better Before you could afford the ICE,
There is something about air conditioning that I find rather unnerving, kind of sickly.
I cant breath properly, I always end up with an uncomfortably dry throat.
It is the same on planes.
Tiled rooms old and used but not recently.
I feel like a factory worker turning up to work and finding all the machines have gone, replaced by big white walls calling out, “I am”.
The cold emptiness adds a convincing drama to the small elements which still remain.
A few broken televisions.
A pile of video tapes with their tape removed, strewn about like unwanted hair.
In the back a VW van, the yellow panels giving the space a glimmer of hopeful color. It appears to be in good condition, perhaps someone is storing it here over winter.
There are unlikely sounds, I am guessing windows are open on both sides creating quite an abrasive effect on my fragile head.
Focussing on the sound I walk through some Vaseline-like substance which appears to have been smeared across the floor, trying not to slip, I retreat, noticing the detailed prints I have left behind in the oil.
Man on a bench
Grey sweater
Blue jeans
Brown shoes
One leg resting on the knee of the other
He is reading
His suitcase waits beside him, packed and ready.
A couple Ponder over a map
The man wears a beret
His eyes aren’t so good
The checkered coat of his partner runs almost to the pavement
The collar round
The grey check complementing her hair
