When I moved in to the flat on High Street we went to the second-hand hardware shop. Across the tracks on the West side of the highway we parked unsure of our destination. The map application doesn't always know. In that time everything was a stroll like the mere act of showing ourselves together in a public setting was a theatrical and carefully coordinated demonstration which took so little effort.
I'd shattered the glass lamp shade attached to the ceiling fan the night prior. We confirmed our elemantary plans to shop for a new shade the following day, simplistic; Today we accomplish [task], perhaps coffee on the way. If time &/or affection is = to this, then do; else-if fuck... or make art away from each other because the two acts are mutually exclusive in those circumstances, unless we happen to be in a state of cross-United-States state-line-crossing transit, a road trip or something like that.
Photographs were our only other actively collaborative activity. We based a relationship on static film frames.
This couch reminded me of my childhood. The weave and pattern were nearly indistinguishable and I was holding back strange tears of nostalgia though I never told you. Two hundred dollars was such a price to pay for my past and future. You laid against it while I took photos of you. Now you're laying in the same position on a ragged, wide, pink couch. The scene transitions like the flip of a switch, then a shutter releases and the only other difference is you're no longer wearing any clothes. Another two years and we witness a quick cut to me quickly cutting the pink couch to shreds with an array of powerful power tools. I threw the remains off the balcony then heaved them into the dumpster. I wish I'd purchased that white, padded antique in the window under sunshine. Maybe you'd recognize it later.
I'd shattered the glass lamp shade attached to the ceiling fan the night prior. We confirmed our elemantary plans to shop for a new shade the following day, simplistic; Today we accomplish [task], perhaps coffee on the way. If time &/or affection is = to this, then do; else-if fuck... or make art away from each other because the two acts are mutually exclusive in those circumstances, unless we happen to be in a state of cross-United-States state-line-crossing transit, a road trip or something like that.
Photographs were our only other actively collaborative activity. We based a relationship on static film frames.
This couch reminded me of my childhood. The weave and pattern were nearly indistinguishable and I was holding back strange tears of nostalgia though I never told you. Two hundred dollars was such a price to pay for my past and future. You laid against it while I took photos of you. Now you're laying in the same position on a ragged, wide, pink couch. The scene transitions like the flip of a switch, then a shutter releases and the only other difference is you're no longer wearing any clothes. Another two years and we witness a quick cut to me quickly cutting the pink couch to shreds with an array of powerful power tools. I threw the remains off the balcony then heaved them into the dumpster. I wish I'd purchased that white, padded antique in the window under sunshine. Maybe you'd recognize it later.
I walked along the riverbank on a bright, lucid afternoon. Sand was caught between the bottom of my feet and sandal soles. The river flowed past cement columns supporting the road overhead. In the plot of shade under this structure, and knee deep in the water, a man was panning for gold. The tip of his graphite beard bobbed in swells as he hunched and sifted. Hi fly rod's handle was nestled in rocks on the bank, its spindly end leaning high against the middle column. On either end of the overarching structure shimmering snowmelt vacillated, glinting in turbulence as it shook its way past rocks and divets, slipping into smooth darkness as it ran past his legs to bloom again back in the light on the opposite side.
