In which The Gay Recluse freezes to death.
It goes without saying that nothing is black and white.
But at the moment it feels like nothing is gray, either.
It’s more like there are layers of perception, some of which are made of iron, and some of which will melt away.
Filed under: City Pattern Project, Dissonance, Faith, Gay, Health, Weather | 1 Comment
Tags: Black, Gray, Overwrought Metaphors, Snow, White, Wrought Iron
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I think that the irony is this:
That the ones that appear to our human eyes to be the most solid, are the ones that are really the most insubstantial, and the ones that are seemingly insubstantial, are the ones that are really true.