About Me

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I'm Ryan, and I don't particularly understand the importance of a Blog... but I'll Blog away anyway. Positively, it gives me a wall to talk to. I like having formation and fluency in my day. 'About Me'?... just read the Blog.

Friday, October 15, 2010

He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts

Yes, he still insists he sees the ghosts...

The station had never been empty, never. Not since they day it was dug from the black soil. He came like a dream, in the dark directly, but unclear and hung like smoke - in the shadows. He stood on the station, unmoving - fireflies surrounding his stare. Like mist, a curtain for the moon. The sparking lights shone from his circular glasses, head skewed like a quizzical hound. There was always something dismal in the air. There was no sound, no smell, there was no emotion in his gaze, time felt irrelevant. It was irrelevant. Two tracks of seperation from the other platform, Platform 09., occasionally a trains would trickle by. A stagnancy of uneasy feelings and paranoid thoughts. Something hung from his stiff arm. A suitcase? A walking stick? An umbrella? The fireflies continued to swarm as the train approached, slowing in his wake. He never boarded. Never, not once. A perpetual wait, destination unknown. Not boarding nor never moving from his place. No one asked for the time, no one bumped or abused. The Firefly Man exists to stand and watch. An organic camera. A living lightpost. A friend to the lost and a doorway to my mind.

Where's My Mind?
Somewhere nearby, not elsewhere.
(The image took ages to edit. Thanks to Dane for taking it.)

Adios.

1 comment:

  1. "The Firefly Man exists to stand and watch. An organic camera. A living lightpost. A friend to the lost and a doorway to my mind."
    Awesome

    This Dane guy seems like a pretty cool guy, but what would i know? I'm just a decayed astrophysicist...

    I thought the picture was going to be of the businessman hanging there, but the editing looks pretty awesome, nice job butch.

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