fenozepam (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} fenozepam) wrote,@ 2008-05-15 13:52:00 |
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Morning cheese
Accompanied by scores of black-clad, mute strangers you advance inside an inumbrated upward tunnel. You are on a juddering escalator, inside the jittering light given off by upright, pillar-like lamps which illuminate the scene only insufficiently, uncannily. Silently, stoically, these lamps stand there, at equal distances to each other, like the sinister soldiers in your gauntlet run.
For the nonce, the ascent seems never-ending. But finally, mercifully, you will be released, spat out, into the embrace of daylight.
What is it? A metaphor for life? A metaphor for life and death? For purgatory? For hell itself?
No, it's rush hour in Tbilisi.
Accompanied by scores of black-clad, mute strangers you advance inside an inumbrated upward tunnel. You are on a juddering escalator, inside the jittering light given off by upright, pillar-like lamps which illuminate the scene only insufficiently, uncannily. Silently, stoically, these lamps stand there, at equal distances to each other, like the sinister soldiers in your gauntlet run.
For the nonce, the ascent seems never-ending. But finally, mercifully, you will be released, spat out, into the embrace of daylight.
What is it? A metaphor for life? A metaphor for life and death? For purgatory? For hell itself?
No, it's rush hour in Tbilisi.
