Venetian Blinds

Sunsets run countertransferences on sycamores, and barns of sawed mahoganies for building self-contained duplexes with storehouses, polygonic fenestrations for the moon that contrasts the conclusion of the 00s, the rapid passages of boulevards that wave in synchrony with the theater of boring gardens of pomegranates, cable programmes, melia and beer cans, mowers and outdoor gauzes in disuse on Baldassarian avenues, insurance managers that group at illuminated bars like a Maya Bloch on live YouTube channels, that keep tabs on the news and its conjectures, and connect with frequenters at Lebanese and Czechoslovakian embassies and the US consolate. Chinese sports fans and met fans, in their pulmonary cages where they keep national and international policies debatable. New rovers old garages in Kandinskian perspectives. The cynosure, speed and chemistry of phototaxic movie viewers, the class of baobabs that consolidate their hotel reservations for chattering swans that reflect in the waters the heights of coconuts, that in the din barking boerboels bank on the vestibules of refurbished cathedrals, carpet and paint suppliers and dry cleaning services, elevated panorama of the five star hotel over a vertigo of stadia of milkweeds and private homes, grand malls, certified farmsteads and lodges. Leagues of old Azadirachta seem to regard ateliers of squirrels as their acquisitions, the lake and its regaling ducks keeps its shore as its printer.

Cold wind seem to rush from the army base and its ranks of flour sacks, a concrete track for parkour, driveway where search and rescue vehicles run into parallel guardrooms in-between well-trimmed hammocks of Bahama grass and peppermints used for phytoremediation sparrows patrol fescues, basils and thymes for game. Lieutenants and privates are ensconced in the ranks of grease-stained marjoram and irrigated mushrooms, perennial ornamentations tagged with their taxonomies and hierarchies. A taxidermic tiger sculpted in the commission of common sages in the milestone. A watchtower ranked with vegetation and seasonal christmas lights for situational awareness, recruit with a Kalashnikov and Daewoo in the camouflage of St. Augustine. And infantrymen search private cars driving into the base, to verify their driver’s licenses as they drive into the vegetation. Tracking IDs are handed out to paramilitary vehicles and ambulances, caravans of Peugeot and Corrollas for privates and private investigators, Mustang GT-500 and tinted 2010 Cadillac Escalade ESV, for special intelligence agents on leaves to roll out accompanied by cohorts. Renault and Freightliner trucks are parked behind the base to serve as windbreaks, the traversal tree of chinaberries, citruses and shoreas. The cold wind pushes an abandoned speedboat to the concrete structure to the dock (a concrete-granite foundation where water runs into a dam with cogwheels locked with compost and alluvium) and longitudinal wave travels across the silver surface. Clarias and silruses expire at the murky surface in the midst of the floating water hyacinths, shooting rices and lily of the valleys. They gasp at the wind and spread a wave of eccentric circles belted kingfishers and halcyon can spot from acres. Sardines fish in the murk the erosion of their spent habitat. Tendrils rewire the cabinetwood and circumference of the house.

The house is a structure with four walls and a search engine, with its silhouetted shuttered venetian windows and coffee table. The scent of my love on the mattress after sun-dried and washed thrice. The aureate curtains that keeps out the complaining homeowners and cotenants, and Dane publications and jewelries in the drawer ordered from Prague, Hangzhou and Zürich. Self-cultivated discipline to purchase nostalgia with the music, Emily A Sprague, Lampchop, Roberto Carlos Lange. The house is a private firm to cultivate autonomy, self-indulgence and money. A non-place with the privilege of timekeeping machines, and phones connected to the stratosphere via satellites. And human beings are instruments of their voices. These clairvoyant voices vibrate the timber of beach gardens and lacquered pavilions as when we read newsletters and cable programmes in transport, and we read at book fairs, we voice the literature of prescribed sedatives and painkillers. As when we sing falsettos in bathrooms of suites and bungalows as when are alone, as when magistrates administer jurisprudence in courthouses. Blind constitution as ascribed to paralegals in law firms, accountants and administrators of karma in the expo of the burning tungsten. It is the anniversary of sedition, coincidence and unfaithfulness. The poetic justices we disinherit through fashion. Parishioners sound the decadence and din of the decade. Voices transition into self-containing revelations. As when the store went out quiet, when you kissed your jewel between the bookstands decorated with Hugo von hofmannsthal Jederman, Das Salzburger große Welttheater and a rack of Polish realistic novels and Nikolai Gumilev from the acmeist era, your iPhone accidentally snapped at the impulsive Busan buyers. Cameras point at the dipole moment, when Djerban social networkers stroll out to dinner, and snapped at the proscenium of restaurants with Americans in sports tees and evening wears, the Ralph Lauren store with African unknowns and Berliners, some Maastricht watchmakers, some daughters of kings and commissioners. Cameras record social elités attending to pleasures outside in baroque and postmodernist architecture of publicity as against privacy. An ostentatious cosmopolitan where displacement and resettling are immortalized.

How theogony becomes a dissection of pollution when the body leans on cabinet wood in furnished recording studios. In the nave of a cathedral the cosmopolitan illumination forms spheres of reflection on thoughtful gifts of omnipresence and citizenship and Böckenförde. When yearning is the ether of our hegemonic consecration. Belief stretches in our hands when our hands are a commonplace for murals. Sopranos resonate the metallurgy of a nickelated copper bar of street addresses. The bloom and cosmopolitan of boulevards doused in rain and light the city cast neon reflection on cracked pavements where I regale my body like a Wittgensteinian proposition as in modes of my significance and multiplicity. Never overlooking blue oceans, marrakeches and squirrel ateliers inside praiseworthy hornbeams, picual or the mates of ravens, tits and passerines on frantoio and iltrana. Southern live oak and maple become wood application as electrical insulators in mid century modern houses, and cars, hovercrafts, chromosaturations, and installations.

Aeroplanes spread longitudinal waves over the seas encircling unknown archipelago. Boarded passengers on commercial airplanes look down from windows on countries their islets and overall architecture, these islands and their seas are carefully placed on invisible tectonic plates, contiguous cordilleras protrude from continental geographies, from thirty thousand feet borders are fictitious and time moves in relation to relative acceleration. A parabolic movement from takeoff to touchdown with time stationed at the start and the end of the journey. Expectations in which the decades are rolled out with aid of a dozen of foreign commercials like brand-new American deluxé cars, biennales. Look down and observe rocket heads like stars explode in celebration. It is a morose philosophy of time and consequences on universal time agreement, for an astronaut that watches a planet’s complete revolution from a supercomputer. To realize all our conversations are approximations on time. The view of carnival kayaks and cruisers floating towards illuminated skyscrapers, the islands advertised as a place of skyrocketing tourism. Our preoccupation of communicating through the means of transportation. Maple leaves crunched brown on the pavement.

In time disillusionment embraced the pain and in time pain reignited the perseverence of self-revelation. To pass a year was an obligation. Companions watched themselves laugh on the vitrines of car salons and antique showrooms. Their reflections cast with the shade of amaryllises, shoreas and cedars on supercharged 2013 Jaguar XF custom windshields and 300SLR coupés, Uhlenhaut’s engines propagated sound’s longitudinal waves across the silhouetted, evening pond. In our dwelling, we forebode a new decade like prisoners at the end of a prison sentence, to escape from the experience of apprehension. Grateful for Remy Jungerman’s Installations from the 58th Venice Biennale and a decent show of love, chromointerférence and architecture. A glamorous day before a new phase in life: I took photographed sunset towering over dogbanes, frangipanis and shoreas. I browsed through the throngs of contractors from remote petrochemical retail subsidiaries and experienced Anna Viebrock and Enda Bowe. I stood outside, and familiar voices vibrated the titanium and wrought-iron chaparrals, the frequency of noise from civil servants, engineers and auditors was incremental. The pigeon brood of the Trafalgar. In the meanwhile, the planets constellate over candle-lit, murmuring cathedrals — orison and desperation thrum through the hum of silence killing machines. Darkness-chasing headlights of the G450s, Convertibles, and Sedans race the hedonism of the year to a new resort. Then I wished my sweetheart would lean on me by the illuminated pond, caressing.

Music Recommendation:
Emily A. Sprague | Water Memory 1

Wander | Enda Bowe