No Sleep for the Wicked

There is a vast certainty in falling, Lue thought. She felt the air hissing in her ears while she rushed onwards. The speed suggested a destination, a fate or destiny cast upon her by the decision to jump. But nothing happened. The space in which she traveled knew nothing about borders. It was clear and endless, of pure aesthetic. She closed her eyes, a last ritual of hope for salvation, before she finally arrived.

A blast of color ripped through the blank space and pried her eyes open. The last thing she felt was the tint inserting itself into every fraction of her being.

The fall stopped abruptly and Lue arose.

Ich Fremdkörper

Seit ich versuche literarische Tweets zu schreiben, bekomme ich kaum mehr längere Texte hin.

Ich bilde mir einen Zusammenhang ein … dieser Cut Up scheint kein Ende zu nehmen, siehe hier: UpstairsNo9

Also statt zu schreiben (tweeten fühlt sich anders an!), mache ich Fotos. Und muss feststellen: Leute wollen nicht fotografiert werden. Wer hätte das gedacht.

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