The light excludes its marching from the moon. Passing by through foreign spaces. Cascading left and right like the blur of drunken eyes. A slur cuts itself against the sharp edges. The hollow entities react as if were brought upon themselves to act. They entail the trail of luminosity and slowly but surely start to shed their innate. To slowly yet surely breath the unsure. Though, the complexities like madmen with sharpened axes running towards and surely those innate set of emotions bewilder their path. The event horizon approaches. And crazy enough, the complexity morphs from scratched to smooth, exude to include, potato to chip – it all happens within a turn of that whisk. The clear.
Halmat Ferello © 2011