| Jan. 24th, 2005 @ 11:51 pm remember this? |
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Noise: neil young
Street lamps can scatter light on the air and press down on the concrete. On a rainy night with blurred window lights and a misting sense of general boredom and existance over activity, those street lamps might not be as accurate with their duties, but they can still fulfill them. I can stand there looking up to one of those window lights at the off yellow buzz with my arms crossed and my eyes sort of squinting trying to get through that jungle of drop after drop. Not so much in desperation without a hat or soaked completely with wide eyes and a wider mouth, but more sunken with a look that says "I know you're in there" rather than "are you in there?" I can also keep my slightly hurried pace and sort of shift my eyes up towards the glowing room as I walk by. Not so much glowing with excitement or activity but with a dim, captured expression of "I'm here" to the street below as it allows its dense, yellow fog spread out into the moist air surrounding it. Or maybe I can also sit down on the porch step mostly unnoticed, not that there is anything to see, and stare off into the city with a pondering expression on my face with that yellow fly trap above me and a little to the right. Not like overpondering, but just enough to tell any other observers that my mind is calculating or deciding, not racing nor spacing out. But, anyways, either way I exist in this photo shot, I know that my expressions and my most miniscule details and wrinkles will be ignored, because the eye, as it should, is drawn to taht misty, off yellow room. This could come to mean that my actions and reactions are unnoticeable and fairly unimportant in the scheme of things, but I would rather see it another way. I am not remorseful or jealous or anything of that attention grabbing fixture, because it does its job at drawing the eye to it and away from the grey, bleek, drizzly component of the rest of the shot. So instead of abandoning my expressions, I must be in that room because I just know somehow that it is brighter once you get in and warmer, like covered in a thick, warm, dry atomsphere. Once in the room, the observer might not be able to see me, but I'll know they're looking; by staring up, shifting over to see or by pondering on the doorstep, and this was the motivation all along for me to be inside the room. It beckoned me through the cloudy, dreary day and my possible actions all drew to its ability to be what it is and pull at me to join and be inside. |
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