I'm lying on my back. I’ve been staring at the shadow from the chandelier for a very long time now and never blinked once.

My shadows – every time they are animated sketches, where the comic grotesque dissolves suddenly in blurry outlines of anger, then once again changes direction, bending to the naive, only to scatter once again into panic fractions with no system. And there is no end to these alternations.

I have never had the chance to grab the edge of the beginning or the end of one of the genres, introduced by the subconscious: the past together with fantasies; tears, which reach the terrain of the lips at exactly that second when the first wave of a smile appears – wonderful correlations of time and the center of my small volatile universe.

The shimmering at the base of an old ante-bellum chandelier. It bloated up from the pressure of flares, and somehow managed to take in every single instant of my existence.

In the room.

That I.

For some reason.

Live in.

Today.

(c)"Staples" by Oksana Sadovskaya