It is finally November, and so I wonder:
Is that which reveals itself in shadow actually that which is totally real?
Or does the light illuminate that which was really there all along?
These are questions that are best contemplated in the dark. Turn off the light. There is a place where space exists divorced from time: sunrise and sunset. If light were not so bright, would the truth reveal itself?
I am supposed to be thinking about sound, but I cannot free myself from this incessant iridescence. I wish I had a candle, or two, but I don't. Only white light. White electric light.
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