The light from outside
The kaleidoscopic light promises us things, that we will be better engaged at some point. Our time is oft useless, but inside the shimmering fragments we find hospice and tentative repose. Yes, that was somewhat manipulative; I was obviously trying to tie biblical stained glass and iPhone apps together, their rows of minutiae narratives. Ever walk into a dark bar and see someone looking down at their dumbphone with a halo of light on their face? The text that never comes is not a writer’s plight, but we who wait at bars. “Be there in 5,” they all say. To the rows of people in cathedrals, praying, praying — they have their share of waiting too. I say no to these broken rainbows, no to these cruel seductive colors. A fly can only see a million shards of the same scene; its world is broken and short lived. I want to have a heart whole enough to stare at a wall for hours, on which a fly rests as some annoying period for a never written sentence.