(he)Art Failure.
White gallery walls, bare wood floor.
[You] and your projector in the empty space.
Cord plugged into the metal outlet on the floor.
The images flicker, are slow, superimposed with type. Drab colors. Basic font.
Overhead the voice speaks in a measures tone, continues. The reel keeps going.
I left.
Were you trying to convince me to listen to what you had to say?
About Me
- Madeline
- I am an imaginary blogger writing about real life events. Events and persons mentioned in this blog are fictional and any resemblance to real persons or events is entirely intentional. In fact it is probably about you. However, the author is entirely fictional, so what are you going to do?
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