we both use each other, and we are not on the outside yet.

three men sit and wave their books as they preach listen to the books; we can't
read the pages thickened by moisture, merely drawing in a sense of an imagined enemy.
very little is known: harmless enough but the uniformed personel capable of going badly wrong...
so as a public figure that dislikes the glare of a disintegrating hell who can blame me for looking at the flash itself when we got stuck in this other dimension?

beauty and simplicity, the advent of cameras could make the city disappear.
somewhere near the toll we get a chance to capture parts of the last century, a little corrupted and still no way out.
i get sick when i breathe in thousands of smouldering circuits, digging through rubble falling from underneath, overwhelmed by a meagre sound extremely silent, exposing the imperfections ugly humans create.

by the third week i begin to notice the more objective realities in a distorted scene: now they are mine which means i have to reconstruct them - not be horrified by them.
neither of us looks back to the ruins of the old world. we don't negate or try to forget the past.