Various reports of weather

It’s very hard to occupy space. You can have a lot of space at your disposal and still not be able to breathe. A big room. How to make it take all that breath and give it back again?
Sometimes notes help. Not written ones, but rather notes like bubbles. Space-using bubbles – fat, spherish pillows. They are actually just membranes with a different sort of space inside. Eyeballs of not-much. Looking blindly at everything, and with such a clear perspective. You could polish up a bubble if it weren’t for it being so damn silent.
When things are quiet, you need the molecules of air to be sensitive to tiny shuntings.
 I push some air towards you.
You push some back. And its arrival is like a tickling. Not a thumping.
I am a sad, little one tonight.
And I am holding my breath beneath a big ache of sky. Blue hurts sometimes (I’ve said this already a long time ago.)
But it’s a good colour for blondes, with enough black mixed in. It makes us look healthy. It makes our skin shine like peaches.
Vanity or greed, I wanted to say to the puffy man. It’s all vice. Which one do you want?
Vanity or greed.
I am so fond of summer fruit. But I know that sometimes it’s potatoes and simply your best effort with beetroot.
We are heading somewhere, where the apt adjective is industrial.
That’s what they say. And we invite everyone. But really, I fantasise blonde wood, and green lamps, and plate glass to catch my reflection as the night comes down.
I want to drown in the black-and-white.
And to feel that strange floating when the linear forms loops, and paper moves beneath the edge of a hand like a ticker-tape.
Colours. One must write in colour. Even if it’s mostly black.