si, he regresado:)
Thought you'd never see me again? I became one of those... lost senses. You found me orphaned, cast out from the established society of five and adopted me into your hand-crafted perception. I stayed tingling on your fingertips, on the end of your tongue, buzzing in your ears and staining your eyes; I haven't gone numb. But I crossed the border... crossed over to the other side of your skin to provoke sensations within.
Only images die on sight. All those infant memories they concieve live on, forced onto the crowded streets of consciousness to roam without light, homeless, until reflection shelters them in the warm blankets of recognizance.
Memories concieved in images. Images giving birth to memory. Memory ripping out from the womb of an image. Memories hurdled from the womb of old photography onto the crowded streets of consciousness. Memories unremembered, homeless. Wandering unseen and alone until someone finds them attractive enough to adopt them into recognizance.
Only images die on sight. All those infant memories they concieve live on, forced onto the crowded streets of consciousness to roam without light, homeless, until reflection shelters them in the warm blankets of recognizance.
Memories concieved in images. Images giving birth to memory. Memory ripping out from the womb of an image. Memories hurdled from the womb of old photography onto the crowded streets of consciousness. Memories unremembered, homeless. Wandering unseen and alone until someone finds them attractive enough to adopt them into recognizance.