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Description
I.
The rain is pouring, and when I look up I realize that, when seen through the light, it is like stop-motion static. A thousand little pinpricks all coming down solid, but dissolving upon contact with the skin. Television tuned to a dead channel. Your hand against my face.

II.
Remember back when cable was king? Or when the news was still snatched from the air with little antennas? The reality of TV then was parallel, coated in signal haze, dust between the noise, little grains of gaussian sand.

Sometimes that's how I feel, when I look around. The world still coated in signal haze, a cable TV movie broadcast through the analogue wire, my retina the coaxial.. the point when faces and sounds fragment and dissolve, crackle, fall apart, and piece themselves back together again.

The world is like that now. Crackling. Dissolving. Dimming. Two circular lenses coated in fog, thick rubber and an intake valve, static.

III.
I wasn't sure if it was because you didn't realize it, or if you really did know, and that's what that smirk on your face was for.

IV.
This is the final silence. The emptiest sort of form. Patterns of rising and collapsing. It's own form of hypnotism.

All there is now is a dead null lull, little bits of fleeting light. The air is still cold, but I don't care, because it's not like I can feel it anyways.

Description
I.
The rain is pouring, and when I look up I realize that, when seen through the light, it is like stop-motion static. A thousand little pinpricks all coming down solid, but dissolving upon contact with the skin. Television tuned to a dead channel. Your hand against my face.

II.
Remember back when cable was king? Or when the news was still snatched from the air with little antennas? The reality of TV then was parallel, coated in signal haze, dust between the noise, little grains of gaussian sand.

Sometimes that's how I feel, when I look around. The world still coated in signal haze, a cable TV movie broadcast through the analogue wire, my retina the coaxial.. the point when faces and sounds fragment and dissolve, crackle, fall apart, and piece themselves back together again.

The world is like that now. Crackling. Dissolving. Dimming. Two circular lenses coated in fog, thick rubber and an intake valve, static.

III.
I wasn't sure if it was because you didn't realize it, or if you really did know, and that's what that smirk on your face was for.

IV.
This is the final silence. The emptiest sort of form. Patterns of rising and collapsing. It's own form of hypnotism.

All there is now is a dead null lull, little bits of fleeting light. The air is still cold, but I don't care, because it's not like I can feel it anyways.