Scribbling:
Tragedy of Wanderer:
"The half dazed fields are waking up to the warmth of the sun that has been dull in its own way, with its eyes pale yet without any sign of remorse, instead a sense of joy it carries, perhaps the hangover of the night before that it possibly spent in the company of exotic clouds brought about by ever so mischievous winds. Drenched in the touch of the night long gone, could it be still carrying the fragments of an embrace.
The sky is clearer now than at the arrival of dawn, the wind still looking an opportunity to play while the sleepy mountains at distance continues to look nonchalantly. The train is gaining speed and the whole imagery is turning into a state of trance like an artwork of Van Gogh. There are no stars here yet the flickering of sunlight appears them to be present while it itself pretending to be the moon, one the day has often overlooked in its forced chaos. While the journey continues."
Tragedy of Wanderer:
"The half dazed fields are waking up to the warmth of the sun that has been dull in its own way, with its eyes pale yet without any sign of remorse, instead a sense of joy it carries, perhaps the hangover of the night before that it possibly spent in the company of exotic clouds brought about by ever so mischievous winds. Drenched in the touch of the night long gone, could it be still carrying the fragments of an embrace.
The sky is clearer now than at the arrival of dawn, the wind still looking an opportunity to play while the sleepy mountains at distance continues to look nonchalantly. The train is gaining speed and the whole imagery is turning into a state of trance like an artwork of Van Gogh. There are no stars here yet the flickering of sunlight appears them to be present while it itself pretending to be the moon, one the day has often overlooked in its forced chaos. While the journey continues."
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