It was raining hard; it was at war against the grounds. They were having coffee while sitting in the common house. It was the only existing matter that associated all of us. It looked like the resting place of those who repose after a day in a pilgrimage. It was extremely appealing for it was higher among all the unseen houses in the dark.
I covered myself with the heavy old curtain. It had pockets that was filled with two large frames with unseen paintings inside. I walked around and around the vintage house, wandering where to stay, to remain. No one sat on the numerous couches seen in the living room, as they were only concerned in their senseless discourse in the dining room. But it only began to rain hard.
Those who were drinking coffee decided to go to the living room to close the windows as it was already almost raining inside the house. It was fragile, for the windows were only made of sliding metal screens so thin and soft as a chiffon fabric. Somehow, the wind were making the sliding windows move from side to side, violently not helping the rain going inside the house. However useless it may be, the thin windows never broke down.
I just couldn't not care.
Erika Ruiz | 23:59 |
on the other side
Weightless Overbearing
The pensive nothingness decenters the path of a dream with rigor, mirth and irony. Highly possible as the feeling of pondering while breathing soothes the burden of the being; like seeing the entire spectrum of light and darkness, fishing on a sunken castle lake of a setting, free with delirium and wine.
Play the music below if you want.
a portrait hole
Erika Ruiz
19 [27 August 1990]
Manila, Philippines
dreams inspire me
surrealist dissection
By the way, this is just for the expression of and for the self; so as to escape, be fit for a refuge. Non-fiction and surrealism might often insert itself. This is a storage of the raw.
