A Blue Chair

I have been thinking that I want to crawl into your head. Let me know when this is possible. Perhaps Sunday? Or the day after next week?

I am currently ensnared in disembodied descriptions. I cannot seem to paint any pictures, real or otherwise. Here, I will try; judge for yourself which are real and which are not (assuming that it matters, or that it doesn't; oh, I seem not only to be stranded but indecisive as well!)

A blue chair, plastic. Transparent, with palm of hand visible through the back. Gash on palm, like a story, only an accident (but stories can be accidents, too, I suppose). The sterling silver ring, no diamonds, taps a rhythm out loud for no one to hear.

The two yellow lines never really end, but I'm sure they must cross somewhere. Deceived by the air, the trees are green until they are not; the trees are full until they are bare, and no colors to delight the eyes. Watch, and you will see. This will not be apparent, though, if you are colorblind.

The price of abstractions -