I remember black, I remember when the only color I would wear when I went out at night was black and when I went out a night I was surrounded by people in black. We listened to dark heavy music, melodic, metallic, brittle, icy, icy-hot, all flavours of dark and heavy. At nighttime in the street we are all shadows, harlequin shadows in black and we is operative.
and now I believe after playing at color and brightness and the workaday I am falling again into shadows, the night is calling, and I am alone and we is operative. Alone there is no laughter in shadows, no humour in darkness. No joy in a melancholy unshared. We are no longer our own audience, gone missing on light poles in miraculous Xerox color, incarcerated, employed, interred, gone missing, or gone old, gone missing. And still the night is calling, unanswered.
and now I believe after playing at color and brightness and the workaday I am falling again into shadows, the night is calling, and I am alone and we is operative. Alone there is no laughter in shadows, no humour in darkness. No joy in a melancholy unshared. We are no longer our own audience, gone missing on light poles in miraculous Xerox color, incarcerated, employed, interred, gone missing, or gone old, gone missing. And still the night is calling, unanswered.