Thursday, 29 January 2009

SHOT NO 25, by Anthony Sides

Tinfoil sunlight, and a few scraps of rain smudge the dusty windows.

Take your shoes off, and lie back on the bed. Let the ceiling let you hypnotize yourself. Let the underwater ceiling let you hypnotize yourself.

Rain rains, rainily, against the dusty windows. It's one of those long, endless, unwinding Friday summer evenings, when the 1/2 an hours unspool, all laid-back and mellow, like a tape of Dire Straits switched to CONTINUOUS PLAY. Continuous play.

And the tree tops and the sunlight roll together in the rain, like green waves and gold, and the twisted, pale-sided leaves ripple and swirl.

You sit in your room and I sit in mine, separated by miles and miles of time; and you don't think about me, though I think about you; and you don't want to go out with me, though I'd almost marry you.

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