happily goes the traveler - somewhere
simultaneously
there is a real day
and an artificial one
the artificial one moves along the highway, a well constructed, fast moving, carefully manicured, fecundidly funded, well oiled and strategically punctuated with satiation points Freeway, moving nowhere at all but moving! and this is
the prime distraction
the real one can be found through a hole toward the vale, a dark leafed entrance to a cool pond, where desperate deep greens are chanting lowly, almost black, where the language of colour overlaps itself. you must be prepared to sit still and silent through great waves of engulfing tides of nothing
to find the something
