A cool reticence that lives in the white noise of vintage UHF. Technicolor late-nights ended with a bleary-eyed patriotic timber of colored stripes waving good night. That red, white and blue, turned to color bars then dissolved into a Rorschach of white noise. Volume, cranked all the way down.
A sliver of space at the crest of an exhale. When the labor of your diaphragm ceases to heave. A momentary calm that blots out the entendre of motion. Mouth gaped, nostrils flared in seizure. At the edge of autonomic response. Preparing to suck wind once again.
A single frame of bewilderment as a pair baby blues behold something yet unbeheld. Pupils expanding and contracting - dissecting a kaleidoscope of light. A blank canvas set to capture the wondrous or define the ordinary. Reveling in that momentary blur, that minor lack of focus imbibing in emptiness.
An abyss, a sprawling gulf of nothing, unmolested, somewhere between sleep and wake. Between life and death. Between the conscious and unconscious. A mind drowned in the deep, ears filled with liquid plugs, eyes closed, volume down, white noise , pause between breaths, world out of focus.
An echo chamber in a vacuum. Resounding.