we have our heads in the clouds. we grow up with trained eyes to
scrutinize beauty the way we scrutinize flaws in it.
when night falls, i'll be typing some random stories in front of my laptop, with my ears filled to the max with sonny rollins, duke ellington, and thelonious monk's songs of the night. sometimes i feel like screaming my heart out, but those papers can't hear me; all they're able to hear is the clacks made by my fingers on the keyboard as those words flow out of my head like a rush of waterfall tracing the gigantic rocks on its way down.
sometimes i take several moments to imagine about other nocturnal creatures whose movements contribute to the flow of the city's flows of informations. they move that way to replace the memories of the daylight with the memories of the shinning skies of the night; but only eyes of the satellites know how translucent the open sky actually is. the satellites, too, know what they—and I—are doing during those hours after the western sky swallowed the arrogance of the sun.
there will be clacks on keyboards, excessive loudness of house music in small and big clubs, tender talks of lovers in a secluded café , chatters and laughters of friends after several bottles of beers.
night is everything in motion, and here i present my soul to be listed as one of those nocturnal creatures.
photography by devina
