I have just emerged, blinking and dazed from Jg Ballard’s Drowned world. I find myself missing the slow decent into a greater truth. The void between the web of deceits and visions that make up our shallow charade and done deeper truth, something archaic more real grows in my mind.
The urge to head south into the jungle grows stronger. The pulsing black sun of Keran’s dreams is still burned on my eyes.
Silver and lemon cumulus and winter gulls against cold blue sky.