We walk with our eyes open and hearts closed. The soul never stops yearning. Cramped apartments with empty tea cups. Sliding down the bath tub and breathing in numb oxygen. Passing down the streets at lonely hours and seeing old men drinking out of brown paper bags. Dull colors and bright colors. Frequencies of ships lost in torrential storms. A sound, a cry; heard but ignored. The hurt in these eyes. The façade of futile smiles. The temperature soars, so does the anger within. The cat with devil eyes. Glistening in the dark of the night. Choked prayers in small town hospitals. The propulsion of an airplane flying from Bangkok to Bulgaria. This world, with immense everything. Black jackets and old records. Neon lights of an Asian pub. An old library somewhere in England. Rubble. Rust. Romance. Iced tea in dry summer heat. Fleeting joys. Broken toys. Aliens and the supernatural. Guitar strings and John Keats. Elegies and ecclesia. Community at its best. Society at its worst. All is same. Different is everything. These images never leave my mind, and in this dark world, this becomes my only light.