February 15, 2021
You can’t tell, but in the day there’s so much light that comes in from this window. All the other units in the building have curtained this light off, so the building from the road looks forgettable.
From downstairs, you can look up and see we are the only ones who worship this light.
So much that when night falls, we replace this light with the ones we insist. And I painted windows when we couldn’t build any. For the lamps, I tell myself.
The things we do as a human being living as a city dweller is an interlude to the kinds of life we will bridge between our consciousness and unconsciousness.
I always look downstairs to see if anyone noticed, night or day. I doubt.
But it is not doubt that will stop the hope of an artist dumb from a lard-like faith.
How else to speak?