#trappedintheamberofthismoment
#баловство
#jazzybits
June waved me goodbye with raindrops so big they seemed to give a false promise of infinity as they traced their paths, criss-crossing one another, bringing a sense of volume and depth into the summer air, usually empty save for sunlight and an occasional wind-borne speck of dust. As the frightened humanity took cover underground, the rain crept after them, tracing their steps until the soles of their shoes dried out and umbrellas stopped dripping. I dozed off in the hot dampness, crammed between bodies and railings, supported by the great river of people who rode the subway with an air of enviable, unshakeable purpose. The train shot out of the tunnel and into a rain-soaked city, right under the dirty white enamel of the clouds that stretched from horizon to horizon and threatened to crush a carelessly erected 16-storey office building here and there. I woke up with a start. Sunlight seemed an impossibility in this land of concrete blocks kept together by something strikingly similar to force of habit. Pale blues and greens mixed into layers of washed-out grey as I looked. All contours were chipped and blurred, straight lines bent and wavering, as if the Creator's hand had pushed too hard on the heavenly crayon that drew the reality object-by-object upon an endless sheet of white emptiness. Beyond the windows I could make out impenetrably colorless places where the hand grew tired, making only a token effort to fill the outlines of things. As we crossed the river, all of reality stood still; a snapshot, a momentary link between worlds. A sudden state of zero gravity that could last forever as I thrived on this infinite paleness. Yet I grew so confident among the shifting forms and ubiquitous uncertainty that I tore at the unmoving image before my eyes, crumpling it like a first draft, revealing moment upon moment underneath it, a stack of old pictures forgotten in the attic. I riffled through them, eager to see the future beyond the mists of late summer, but only disturbed the stillness. The images melded with each other, each barely different from the previous one, time rushed on with gusts of humid wind that spattered stray raindrops on the glass. The train dashed forward, plunging everyone into the darkness of the tunnel and the finality of forms that only electric light can bring.
#баловство
#jazzybits
June waved me goodbye with raindrops so big they seemed to give a false promise of infinity as they traced their paths, criss-crossing one another, bringing a sense of volume and depth into the summer air, usually empty save for sunlight and an occasional wind-borne speck of dust. As the frightened humanity took cover underground, the rain crept after them, tracing their steps until the soles of their shoes dried out and umbrellas stopped dripping. I dozed off in the hot dampness, crammed between bodies and railings, supported by the great river of people who rode the subway with an air of enviable, unshakeable purpose. The train shot out of the tunnel and into a rain-soaked city, right under the dirty white enamel of the clouds that stretched from horizon to horizon and threatened to crush a carelessly erected 16-storey office building here and there. I woke up with a start. Sunlight seemed an impossibility in this land of concrete blocks kept together by something strikingly similar to force of habit. Pale blues and greens mixed into layers of washed-out grey as I looked. All contours were chipped and blurred, straight lines bent and wavering, as if the Creator's hand had pushed too hard on the heavenly crayon that drew the reality object-by-object upon an endless sheet of white emptiness. Beyond the windows I could make out impenetrably colorless places where the hand grew tired, making only a token effort to fill the outlines of things. As we crossed the river, all of reality stood still; a snapshot, a momentary link between worlds. A sudden state of zero gravity that could last forever as I thrived on this infinite paleness. Yet I grew so confident among the shifting forms and ubiquitous uncertainty that I tore at the unmoving image before my eyes, crumpling it like a first draft, revealing moment upon moment underneath it, a stack of old pictures forgotten in the attic. I riffled through them, eager to see the future beyond the mists of late summer, but only disturbed the stillness. The images melded with each other, each barely different from the previous one, time rushed on with gusts of humid wind that spattered stray raindrops on the glass. The train dashed forward, plunging everyone into the darkness of the tunnel and the finality of forms that only electric light can bring.
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Эту запись оставил(а) на своей стене Егор Юрескул
