Night. Night.

Was driving through yesterday night, alone, eyes shut all around. Thick fog and lights. Different kinds. Those cars, those industries, those street lights, those intense lights to light up the bridge in ruin and men fixing its arcs; Yellow and white floating around in air hitting in whisps as I cut through them speeding. Manhattan lights through foggy air.  


Incredibly beautiful.


I had good cameras, and impassive eyes, intense and cutting through. But nothing registered in film, nothing wanted it to register; If there is anything, I want all the beauty to go. Not because its not welcome to the wind shields, but one cannot capture it all and also retain its beauty. Not even in memory, memory can never be objective to the beauty of now.


I am repeating myself. Perhaps its a time to quit writing here. Not because I am in shortage of stories, there are a million avenues I travel each day and many billions that are still. But in all the journies I experience the same nothings. I still refuse to journey your worlds unless invited for a stay over.


So long friends. If any. I am now ready for the plunge and I flow.


TC. Movies on.