in the end it was the silence which preceded the words which told the story, foretold the further silence which would remain...the words shook as did the many small worlds which they alighted on, offering neither solace or promise, neither myth nor forgetting - the tale they told fragmented into the ears and tongues of others...old tales again brought to youth, stumbled upon scraps of images, a collage of fragments entwining the shared history of another...and we meet ourselves in this silence within word and song, more aware of our transience, of the wearing mechanism of self; we face ourselves...and find, woven into the retina, an image of another, those thoughts and memories colluding to cast his departure as the dream, a sequence of mistakes, diffused alternatives which fragment and recede upon the aimless ticking of the clock....

not dark yet