In darkness, the plant leans towards the light, unknowing why, yet driven by inner force. Sleep closes the door to the world, while night clings to rooftops. History reveals itself only in hindsight, like an umbrella opening after the storm has passed. Self-hatred begets hatred for others, a cesspool of emotions, gurgling and foaming. Can poetry save humanity? Cemetery processions and underground chants tell of transience. Tree music and garbage poems, art drawn from life's gutter. Colla voce – going with the voice, we find connection through food and experience. DIY enthusiasts create without gloom the unobtainium of their dreams. Exuberant energy defies storm corrosion, while soaked slippers testify to adventures. Spilled ink on misty paper, like boiling cauldrons of creativity. In dust we contemplate our dust-ache, the fleeting nature of our existence.
