I've begun to question the novelty of it all. Buildings go ever higher, fall deeper while people wait for the rains. I type in darkness while swirls of smoke surround me, the pads of my keyboard taking on a dull speckled grey - when they ought to be white. It seems like this grand chase is the pursuit of novelty. Nothing even seems real. Typing this doesn't even seem real. Surrounded by a cacophony of noise and silence, battling for space. What wins? What are we all searching for? what is real anyway? Simply the wind through the window - or the bright light on my screen? Sink further towards the authentic, whatever that is.
