Wolverton floats, weightless and without form.  The hair writhes before him, his four ape senses unable to process the input that floods his brain.  It latches onto patterns amongst the storm; polaroids that develop in the space of the camera’s flash.

Wolverton navigates the flow by how much is missing or indistinct.  The scenes mist and fade away until Shen pushes open the back door of an abandoned building and Wolverton knows where it is, just as much as he smells the odour of the bricks and the rust on the door hinges leaves a bitter metallic taste in his mouth.


~ by Electro-mechanical Man on April 13, 2011.

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