Nothing there either. Nothing stirring there either. Nothing stirring anywhere. Nothing to be seen anywhere. Nothing to be heard anywhere. Room once full of sounds. Faint sounds. Whence unknown. Fewer and fainter as time wore on. Nights wore on. None now. No. No such thing as none.
Samuel Beckett, A Piece of Monologue, 1979
Gibbous moon. As expected, nothing stirring, on this heat wave morning. No. No such thing as nothing.
After some time, a passing cyclist: - "Moiegeuhhh?"
2019.7.23.1
2019.7.23.2
2019.7.23.3
2019.7.23.4
2019.7.23.5
2019.7.23.6
2019.7.23.7
No comments:
Post a Comment