The perfect riff. ~ Fabrics that shift. ~ The perfect whiff. ~ Sundresses that swift. ~ The perfect cliff. ~ Fingers that drift. ~ The perfect sp(l)iff. Patterns that thrift. ~

The perfect lift. ~ Words that gift. ~

L’adjectif parfait

Leave a Comment

The fact that, a little shutter on a camera, literally swiftly slams shut, and captures - traps - corrals, a three-dimensional moment, of living moving light - your light - and reflects it, into a mirror, and registers it, on an electrochemical sensor, of a billion little excited electron paths, each miraculously and meticulously mapped to, a truthfully testifying sterling of colour, on an absolute sliver, of the infinite light spectrum, faithfully rendered, through liquid crystals, beamed through the stratosphere, by satellites, orbiting the interwaves, to bring a moment of life, to another moment of life, to beget a new moment of life, alive and afire, in your eyes, soaring from your screen, all the awe locked in, the deceivingly and benignly, obviously taken for granted.

Still life. Is never still life.