sagira is licking her back. rasp, rasp, rasp.
sandpaper scraping a dish, sticky shoes on a dirty floor, it could be anything.
i'm trying to think what the sounds is like. but it could be anything, if you weren't looking. sounds only make sense when you look at them.
she's in the window. to be closer to the sun. and the tree is moving behind her, in some imaginary wind. imaginary, because there is no sound. all fake-y behind the glass.
this is why i like storms. they make things real. loud. punch. demand. attention!
i am unhappy.
everything is too fake and too thick and syrupy. like someone on the phone i am not listening to. huh? what did you say? a tinny voice in my ear... crinkle-up-crush-can-aluminium. aluminium, al-you-mini-um, not aluminum, not tin... an element all it's own, all alone, lone phone, disconnected...
aluminum. lumi like luminous, num like numb...
the echo of metal in my head.
shaking a sheet like sound-effect-thunder.
effect my affect, please?
i am cold.
so many things to do, so many things unfinished.