A thought ◢ ◤ ◥ ◣ Without a word ⧑⧒ ⧓ ꔪ A vision ⴵ ⧖ 𐅡 ⋈ ⑅ Without a sight ⧌ ⨹ ⨻ ⨺ A feeling ⍋ ꘜ ⟁ ⌲ ⏅ ⏄ ⏃ ⏃ ꕔ ߜ ◅ ▻ ⬘ ⬙ Without a sense ⍙ ⩢ ⧏ ⧐ ⩠ A colour ◭ ◮ ⧩ ⧨ Without a shape △ ▽ ◁ ▷ ▵ ▿ ◃ ▹ A mind ❀ ✿ ꕤ ❁ ❊ ❃ ❋ ✽ ✣ ✤ ıllı ⋰ ⋱ ıllı ❅ ☄︎ ❆ ❅ ❆ ❈ ❉ ✾ ⚘ ꕥ Without a make ⊱ ≼ ≿ ≾
What can you say about LA. Take the entire skyline. Begin with the office cubicle windows. You craft an overlay. Just a sliver of the facts of each workers life. And by the time you work your way through. Not even halfway to the end. Half the jobs will have disappeared. Half the people will have shifted gears. So you end up with a montage. Of amontage. Never ending. Blinking in and out of existence. Of history unfurled. Shapeshifting. Within the very act of comprehending. Now capture that. Zen punk. Temporary contemporary. Belle pink. Spin drift. Traffic nook. Dream Center. Stuff of the stars in the ceilings. Worship the concrete visionaries. Feel the Uninteractive. Genesis. Bringing news of the xtra
Playing with perfection's patina. Colure. Mirror crescendos. Porcelain's easyclean moods. And ancient numbers. Tumbling like goose down. Abacus chairlift cliffs. The age of wonder. Incarnate. Comatose's Galactic Intimate
Though it is a kind of water and colour, a silence and sound, an invisible presence, a formless shape, a motionless movement
Images need to be used in the furtherance of opening the spaces they refer to Not fabricating the feelings
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