Perch @perchingpath@eldritch.cafe

(egg & nest)

What if we land and drink from this runoff feeder-beck and in sympathy turn to oil-sheen glass, stand statue for decades watching water and dust and water then remember we're alive and fly off.

I hit the tower just past 3 AM and the cricket machines were as loud as I'd ever heard them.

I walked for hours, encountering neither a lull in the storm nor a fellow meanderer.

The snow fell in such thick clots that I twice mistook its wind-curved motion for a hawk's swoop.

Vigorous discussions in the dormitory, Candlemas term.

🌀

We span slowly in place to test the temperature of each compass point, then followed the cold northwest.

Despite the wind, snow clung to the smallest branches & drifts cumulated in the folds of our scarves.

On the bridge over the black oil creek, we thought we heard a child's voice.

The pylons were stung by the sleet-filled wind, like us, and rattled their maintenance locks.

It's been midnight, let's have gone for a walk.

Glacier-scraped highland scape, semi-portable, in case you've entered this valley in error & claustrophobia's setting in.

Couldn't get a shot past traffic, but the word's been smudged into an illegible pale blur, as sometimes happens when ghosts pass away.

God, there's a scene later with a guy jerking off & getting fingered while lying back on a working 1988 Gottlieb Robo-Wars table, bumper lights flashing under his shoulders, in front a wall of windows whose blinds fill the entire backdrop with the most overwhelming moiré patterns.

Really into the way the serial-era driving effects in this porn (Cadinot's Pressbook) contrast with the inspection tags (& lounge house) precisely dating when it was filmed. Like, you start making out and time starts fraying, yeah, ideal.