Only See Yellow
“Perhaps it was to be expected…”
In this room, one light resides in the distance, one light stares down from above, another is in the kitchen, a small one staring down onto half of a deep dish pizza. Above, are two blue renditions of time in digital, and a whole panel of regional times, like Pacific-Standard and Greenwich Mean. I stare at the canvas drapes and the leaning oil-on-canvas noting the surface, most of which has a sheen, but the purples and another color are flat, dry and steady and reflect no light. The clock is always ticking as if time were progressive, but we both know that everything is the same. The same lessons, the same thoughts, the same person. We have never changed. We are only older and we don’t even realize that. Or maybe we do. Perhaps, and then as simply as we became aware of ourselves and our selfish ways, most narcissistically alive, we come to realize the fact of our departure from this knowing, which seems for naught. What was the point of bringing to the garbage the remnants from store-bought plastics and cartons, glass containers, whatever it took to get it all home, so that we could consume it and keep living? What have we really accomplished, except to know that our mothers loved us to the point of their own…
