ON YOU, ON ME, ENNUI
I have taken for granted the pleasures of a tactile world: dragging my hands along a cold steel balustrade, cupping porcelain whilst drinking a coffee, skin torn by sandstone gripped too hard. Instead, I find myself shying away from everything like a vampire fleeing an upraised cross.
Where is this place that we are? We are not where we were and we are not where we are going. When I wake up in the morning it feels like nowhere, off balance, off kilter, suspended. A great and terrible ennui has descended.
