ephemeral

ominous

urban construction

prospective

money machine

radiance

night life

The night brings about an entirely different life. 

After the day has left and the shops all close and the main of the city is asleep. 

The silent streets cast a light, sharply dividing shadows on the pavement and passions all become sway. 

Transgressive Nights

I had a dream of you last night. 

Funny, night. How it does that. 

Only in darkness do I find my vices so forceful. 

Creeping in on me, constantly, like flickers of light 

On cold lamp lit streets in desolate hours. 

Paralyzed, I lie still. 

Movement might bring ripples, I don't risk it. 

Still in my silence induced snow. 

So austere, memories, in matters of treatment. 

There is nothing more oppressive than recollection. 

But decadence comes with time. 

I'm not sure what to make of it all. 

All of these things occupying space in my mind. 

Certainly not what to say. 

Words. How I fear words sometimes. 

So I hold my tongue.

Grace is distant. And I look for the correlation. 

But I can not connect things. 

It's all a blur, like dreams so often are. 

At least they're consistent. Or perhaps just discordant.   

How strange dreams bring things, 

Only in the depths of consciousness 

And darkness and sleep. 

The dream ends. My eyes open. 

I get up. Life goes on. 

and so forth

And your good with the words that take my breath

And I'm good with the thoughts that make my head spin 

And all those lines that linger in empty spaces standing between 

Well im not so sure what they all mean

[incomplete]

some new photography

words to come later