I Havent Yet Named It

The following piece is a little extract from my modernist scriptive text.

Heart:

Drum. Thump. Beat. Thump. Not like a chair, not still. A guitar too is not a heart. It is not a heart until you play its strings.

Red is red is red is heart.

Blood from heart is red is red is

blood.

Blue veins. Blue like the sky where the birds fly. Like the water flowing between the river’s shores. But is water truly blue? Is it blue, or green, or grey? Or is it is the colour of its constituents? Her blood is water and it is red so that means he is red.


Death:

What happens when the heart stops?

Red signs cause collisions. No stopping. No pain.

No motion, no heat.

The fire that burns brings warmth but not during death. Winter is black, is cold, is death. She fears it, and hides behind yellow for pretection. But yellow is the colour of the inevitable.

Not dead. Alive. Love. Love. Alive. Nothing. Death. Death. Death.


Night:

Only black and only black and only bats. Bats only. One cannot see and if you cannot see nothing exists.

But yellow is heard?

Spreading sound proves existence without sight.

No time to pretend.

Why pretend?

Children are crying,
bombs are dropping
and
they are hoping.

Hoping that the night never comes. Night is the time of sleep is the time of black is the time of death is the time not of the heart the heart.


Sleep:

Temporary death.

Solitude. A black cave. A yellow box. But that does not matter because when ones eyes are wide shut they see only black.

To wake is to live and to sleep is to die. To wake from sleep is not yellow, it is a gift. Cherish it. It is not yellow

A Church in which he prays consists of four walls filled with one soul. And candles. Candles that burn in sequence, never burning the soul, or the walls. Burning like a song, in tune with one another, high pitched.

What happens when the flowers grow? Do you stop caring for them?


Waltz:
She leant how to dance but she never showed it to him.

And he never moved with someone else’s rhythm.


Breathe:

Not to breathe is to love because love is to take one's breath away.

Two people, in love, yet in so much pain. Pain is love. And love is sweet, so pain is sweet, but love hurts ones heart and sweet hurts ones teeth.