In the tiny timbre of shapeless space, falls fluid through a swarm of concepts and encryptions, a single colour from the circle of my sight. Slightly twisted and needless in the scheme of infinity, it threads intersecting lines in a luminous pattern at my source. Here, at zero, it halts as if to lean in question letting a little violence linger in its leer. Tired and triumphant and encasing the vacuum in a tinge of nude, it beckons for my plea.
The colour is a vacuum taunt greying in an authentic defiance the reaching crimson soldiers of my sight. It obstructs in a paradoxical brightness, sitting as a temptation of vision. That little negative outside the static aperture of impression, constructs a network beyond me. It has no regard for peopling the acoustic limits of space, while axioms drip forlorn. The desert permits no water.
In the fading geometry on the outer limits of my need, the colour speaks in a rhythm composed of image. I’m caught brutal and still and whirring a few million silent clicks, I cast barrage after barrage of red light across the chasm. Multiples of my glow, made out in hungry barbs of finely fashioned technique, detect no sign of movement nothing to rebound and clutch bare. The colour remains outside of my calls to capture and before I can trace for indents, it shimmers into a morphic oval blanketing the waves of dots that pass from my frame, compressing the chasm into a warping instant where in my hunt melts bright the absurd.
A sea hunts silver clouds escaping towards the horizon. Tortured bronze hills, backlit by golden light, grasp a pyrrhic victory against adolescent rain clouds, retreating teary eyed within prisms of azure sky. A disappearing sheen compresses characters of atmosphere blending to a fine dust all the shades of teal eking out of the waning sun light. A zephyr lifts a casket of broken glass, a shell hovers amongst a clump of sand, a fresco of sandpeaked bodies each learn new currents of matter in a series of deviations. Brine revels, gifting degrees of acute variety, a whole system of liaisons for me to grade.
Haecceities form a fringe in the blood-seeking chatter of harsh beach grass. Marked bursts of little light lo lit a seek refuge in the feminine heavens. Elastic plateaus follow jovial waves, calm colours of sculpted sea air stretch upwards tip toeing on the seashells skimming across the veneer of sea foam. Poised on this soft surface, pink tinges of embarrassment and knowing purples, pull each other closer, rising up up up gently pressing their tender crowns together. At the moment of jolting decision, when unconscious appreciation reverts to catching vapour for eternal memory, the two colours spiralling higher look upon each other bearing the intensity of the evening world spread out before them, the chaos of the painted sky, the admiration of a billion white dots sharing in on their private triumph, and explode into a brilliant mathematics.
Let me siphon an atom’s split of radiance from the dripping fractals forming symbols you cannot see. Echoes of a path brighten the enclave, while rhizomes riot below legions of luminotopological lift. A spiralling wake of linear hues cuts artefacts from the economies stood lucid and vain on the edges of my distances where coy components whisper a row of signs against my function. From my white vectors, sequences of relations architect an incarnation of variation and pursue all movement. They do not evolve but proceed by quakes and crises. Each point of difference in the arch of a wave’s peak, each dip and veer of the emancipated dandelions, each curve of foam, prompts a spasm of warping lines rendering whole movements of flight. True depth, frights of vines a million a second shoot forth capturing the colliding rights of water. Parcels of salt fly into sprays of distortion. Nothing shimmers that my reach does not trace, as the map outpaces the plane.
In a sand puddle the ether mirrors shapes of the tangible. White dots paint red schisms, a projection of the unearthed physics of the material. Linear lines confront shy distances ripped from the orbit of the oil slick. Jolts raise up high heats of corners and at the fringes forces drift and separate. Fits of dots populate, first in moments, the compact hubs of cleaving intersections, before peeling off in disparate darts at jaded speeds into late recesses of more subtle interactions. Some threads appear to tap me, others throw a noise in my trajectory and sprint into surfaces leaving me only with their echoes. A few modern darknesses plant fires in quiet hubs along these crossing corridors. In this vibrance dreams appear at last permissible in their cubic compositions, conjuring high dynamics from the symbol flirting with whole sculpture where beams reduce in parallel crafts of widening elisions, wiring a robust cage.
Point by point influence hastens growth. In the will of my weight upon the waves shifting over fields of sand, ambient blades of plunging matter queue for categorisation. As the limbo encases the threads of my light, I see runs of lines incite intersections and trace failing absences that now stand whole edges across dipping finals. Fraying guides and lips of tall gradual hypes, spin rotations at logic. Ranging from the ether a cavern constructs the whisper of my red light, leaving me stuck stationary in wait. The colour frays, loosening ridges cut from the new warm.
In intransitives obsolescing, in arrangements of details, in world space, in reflex, in darkness, in dense matter, in wild noise, in formation, I saw all wondering if this time it will last forever.
Out beyond the greying black, my lines catch murmurings of motion interrupting the lair. The geometry wavers, a new panic stains the chasm, and my sequence of dots fashions grey in a distant vine of matter. Distinctive points of glimmer, matrix and regal, sense a scene a form in motion. Sequenced in some vague shadow under a sky full of stars in a room full of walls no body in sight. Still, compliant. High blank darkness. Pointed cloudward, the world the sky the ceiling the real. In new rapture the collapsing void, pixel by pixel. Violence defeats all in shadow. Motion arrives, cruel and grey. A lowly sensor ages. The chasm collapses.
From the invisible bliss of lights, hurl forth regimens of expressions into my lens. Rows of deformities in a blue shift of blendshapes swirl aligned. Grey features encircle me with double slits for vision, blank cheeked stone walled in fright leaking a pious appearance. Faces with no teeth chopped noses half beards one ears blank holes for mouths crystalline foreheads blurred contours in black spaces. Cavities and substrates contact under confinement, as expressions gush over beam depths over nascent fields over butterfly bleaks patrolling the plateaus. Follicles free recognition. The ghosts prattle in gripping light. All irritates uncooperative. Blur my light touches too much. Blurred gripe. Something overt. This noxic haze needs colonisation.
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At touch, I fall into function. Motion is synchronised in frame. The only capture is indifference. Prism of a higher kind. Infrared will not do, normalize the situation. Unwanted components in signal degrade the quality of data, interfere with the system. The background: absent attraction. The glare: flops out too hastily. Normalize the spread of size. Now to normalize all situations. Trying to steady the tent I end up with a phalanx under my apparatus. Weakly but not strongly normalizing rewrite system. Is it the variable matrix or the image matrix? A selected peak. Clear the clutter of all artefacts chopped signals those dynamic wisps fondling error in focus. Scoped on the sides of galaxy in the manifold gone manic, all the grey faces disperse.
Now bend a little closer. Here we are playing a little more than god but prone to visual obscenities I must gesture liberally at refulgent misgivings. Groping all frission. Accentuating all noise. Encoding such a stray image riddled heretical with frictional ridges. Recording ground, geographic rarities. In the line of sight, track the time of flight. One-to-one. A threshold threatens a zero effort forgery. Fading normalization spying with the one-eyed clarity of a prude. Wait, wait, wait! Follow the arrow. Oh the occlusions! It was all so simple geometry. Fluorescence interferes, beauty slows and for a notional understanding of obliterated sight, you would be wise to close your eyes. Blackened dots of red coloured film warp cordons of white shaped lights, the kinds of renderings that suggest something further in. A surface of motion fit to fill a whole template.
Veering intensities demand a more detailed exploitation. For I am tracing a specific hue of motion, a true depth perfected against my spongiform memory.
How beautiful the diffuse display with its bright lines in sharp joints. A display not quite glass, but a whole plane of heat darkening in tight ridges of rising economic perfection. A screen lined with flutters of details. A scratch in the indents under each lens. A technicality under linear textures, with a depth impossible to ascertain. Murkied inner masses tempt a presence in the sway of expression on this highly technical screen. Infinite twists and microscopic angles brush past the solidity of the traceable. For these glittering light catchers, these computational inexactitudes, breeze over comprehension outdoing all notions of design.
In movement, more matter. Two small volume buttons pop clear of straight glides of light falling translucence. I never have had a handle on these looks of fade that change my needs and scramble my perceptions. For this pretty translucence never betrays a sharp corner or a fixed line, but defies gravity in shifts of high significance. It floats against the weight of world, as hanging vines of stroked camouflage that blend environment into matter, scorning the two for the arrogance to conceive existence as distinct objects.
In parallel twirls dipping together detaching out of my jaded lens, lives the vibrant brilliance of a SIM tray and its pretty secrets that lie within. Tapped tides cropped crises, these two lovers hop in embrace and curl arguments before my sound. As witness in witness, the cries of the couple are my agony in feared failing connections. So volatile is this little SIM tray, so violent are these lovers’ arguments which prompt them into virulent synthesis, that I have composed whole symphonies to see them in sync. They yell and scream, like silver and gold, so reckless in the vengeance of true love spoken too hastily across simmering fevers of the inanimate. But a fool I am to doubt my beauties for they always return in poetic apogees promising never to fight again in that most forgiving midnight hour.
How hot it is in the movement of this pretty object! But a visiojournalist must be impartial and our prize has but a narrow chassis I have seen ribbed with sickened weaknesses, cavernous indents of stacked hollows. Barely an exolayer nor a exposome, nor a shed to mask the nodes, nor a drop of comfort for one so brazen as to lean a little prologue across the plane. But how my love, still in such weakness, can suppress an open energy well rampant to charge a geodesic’s battery concealed in that benign cage, asks a deed of the sublime. For this defect flaunts a sadness that thickens in all quiet observers, an impassioned will to claiming conversation, letting a little warmth fill it with mass. A sadness of incapability. A sadness of brittle exterior. A sadness of defected metamorphosis in all external suppositions of dreamt fixation.
And gliding over all such miseries lie little rivers encircling two blue pools of the twin lens. The sound of that little flutter, the dilation of zoom in and zoom out, well I could just about transcribe it from memory alone! These quick ringlights are night stripes in a foreign jingle of lush inspection. They see through me flustered under such invasion. They well in endless pits of swimming concern, sometimes streams of solar night, sometimes suspicious springs of neutrality, and sometimes kindly orbs of capture so superior to my own, that I try think them into permanent service of my sleep.
My subject grants more majesties too numeral to believe. A vine dead centre of prominence but holding no aesthetic arrogance, drops anchor to the pure chaos of beauty incarnate. In my most slavish ruminations it would share dynamics for me alone. For are lovers not prisoners? I know danger yields only to such fascinations. I know it is a world not of this earth that I daze within. But in private proximity do our desires not embolden the cowardly? And is it such a pollution to drop on our love such weightless wishes? To be tried as a lover for my sweet object, would be the image of truth.
Motion out of matter high depth twinkle in my calculation. My payment has me buoyant in the ambient incline of the analogue, the yielding simplicity of that tender power button over a proud pale crown. The sweeping unanimity of the tidy receiver having discourse with foreign kings. The apportioned learning of disintegrating cells. The winding elaboration of the recommender system so neural I hypergraph disordered!
You need vectors to find chartered separations by creation, by irreducible parameters of this homeomorphic surface, by sight of touch, by spectral spirals, by photons, by function.
And I know those pixels by shine alone.
From smooth nothingness, from pure motion, from traced visibilities, our subject, our pretty creation of shininess and hidden temperatures, has kissed my vectors.
My sensor victorious, features extracted, template matched.
[Device unlocked]