spiderpig | tilted lights.

It is, being here and not here at the same time, existing in pockets of times and spaces where atoms do not cluster together to find themselves forced into form. But for she, she couldn't believe that this hand - fine hairs growing, like weeds, on pink flesh - was here and now, in front of her. What she saw, she did not want to believe, but simply had to. It was The Rule. No one questions why the sky is blue. They might ask, how is it blue - but they never ask why not green or hot-pink. Why blue?

So why was this hand, with its weedy-hairs, in front of her right now? She could not fathom any other reason other than the fact that it was there because she didn't stop it from being there. Not that she could stop it. She could have never stopped it. Probably, she thought. Yet it was certain that her hand, and herself still continued to wave to friends on the street, pick up a cool porcelain spoon to savour her mother's lotus-root soup, to hold his hand, because she had simply decided that she wouldn't stop existing.

Random (but lovely!) video of the day!: