Today is a Chris Marker / Ron Mueck
This is what started the day:
His eye, the good one, follows the curve of its socket in tracing with an invisible beam the circle of dishoarmony that is his face, extracting from the edges of his vision a cognitive map he imagines inverting to form a contour against the window he is standing beneath. The air is cool and the sky gray. He is color blind and understands gray is many waves presenting themselves for him as one shade or tint of the same hue.
A few leaves lie on the floor beneath the sill, and a sprinkling of dead flies rest, some belly-up, others huddled down into decay, on the space between the sill and the frame of the storm window. He reaches seven fingers past the window, three to the left and four to right, and presses inward the tabs of the storm, bringing it down with a metal to metal scratch that raises the hairs of his neck.
This is what started the day:
His eye, the good one, follows the curve of its socket in tracing with an invisible beam the circle of dishoarmony that is his face, extracting from the edges of his vision a cognitive map he imagines inverting to form a contour against the window he is standing beneath. The air is cool and the sky gray. He is color blind and understands gray is many waves presenting themselves for him as one shade or tint of the same hue.
A few leaves lie on the floor beneath the sill, and a sprinkling of dead flies rest, some belly-up, others huddled down into decay, on the space between the sill and the frame of the storm window. He reaches seven fingers past the window, three to the left and four to right, and presses inward the tabs of the storm, bringing it down with a metal to metal scratch that raises the hairs of his neck.
jackie:
