Dispatches #8: Bright & Light
Tomorrow I shall travel around city to see that happens. Things become more and more strange. We hide in rubble and we notice—we observe—what that happens. Men in white plastic with clear helmets walk slowly downwards streets on a wide line. On the West at night ardently colored fires which shine almost similarly to the sun of day. Things become indistinct, movement from side to adjoining side, then make themselves in almost same place. Less and less city dwellers can be found.
Some days my beloved Fanta is better. In some days she is worse. As to me? It is direct, the feeling of fear down on me. Feels like as though we at the end of something. Things constrict then nevertheless fly separately all at the same time. My breast is intense, and then it extends to capture the world. It resembles high temperature, flickering on black road, but it happens everywhere and in cold. Today I did a picture of my beloved Fanta also as violet light, bright and light, bathed our world in mischievous heat for 45 seconds.
