Entry

Studio

A Public Journal.
a space for me to word vomit: creative pieces, work notes, and musings.
/Traffic note/
Despite what our traffic rules say, the individual(s) approaching with the greatest force and momumentum will have the right of way, always.
/For Display Only/
The camera shows a man behind glass. His skin is perfectly pink. Bubblegum pink. His nose has a standard issue bandaid brand bandaid across the bridge. The glass is aquariam grade in density. He turns and taps on the glass to get the Camera's attention and in turn, you. He quickly realizes that the viewer can't hear him. He's futilely screaming and banging almost as quickly as he makes this realization, pleading with you for the slightest affirmation. A hand emerges from the bottom of the view. This one's a deep, true blue. The man has stopped tapping, petrified. He knows what comes next. The hand snaps. No sound. It snaps. Nothing. It snaps. And this time you hear it. A note so high and so full it's hard to image the hand produced it and with it, the scene switches.
/Morning of 01.10.18 (read comically)/
I awoke this mornning --
Drowning in thick white sheets,
like literally.

& normally, when someone is suffocating their body temperature rises really quickly.
One would assume then that this is true, especially when said someone is also wrapped in a blanket.

But, I'm like freezing.
Nonetheless, you complain my touch is too warm for the hour, rolling over, leaving me alone and gasping for air.