(if you write in stanzas you look ultra pretentious, but i have to, to assist reading flow, coz my writings pretty clunky, yes dear audiance of zero people, this is my disclaimer)
Black and white photographs upset me.
When I see one I think, that most likely,
the person depicted in light and shadow is now dissolved and diffused under ground.
Where no luminosity can penetrate to make something obscure.
Where the omnipresent darkness isn’t created by shadows cast, rather, it just is.
The photos now, mass produced and easily dispensable
encapsulate a hyper realistic construction of
our coloured forgings of an otherwise mellowed world.
Pictures seem to signify permanence.
In a certain frame nothing bar our garments worn plots our place in time.
The lurid hues saturate us with immortality.
Outdated now is that orange digital date in the corner.
It seems the photos have captured an eternal present.
Though this is far from the truth.
The pixels of time can exist only on a perpetually aging paper.
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