Insufficient light waves (or particles) prevent them shifty curious eyes from looking.
Back to thinking-writing. Work has been a bitch. Life is not supposed to be like this. Life is supposed to be a lazy Sunday afternoon watching Lost episodes with a bowl of butter popcorn and iced coffee within a hand’s reach. Sprawling in clean bedsheets. AC turned on.
Writing in the shuttle, writing in the dark. It’s not pitch black but dark enough to make the letters fall off my notebook’s lines.
Pitch black – where did that idiom come from?
Dark light. Black white. Dark white. Black light.
Black white. Dark light. Dim Bight. Dark white.
Dark bright. Black light. Black bright. Dim white. Dim light.
Methinks this permutation is only one third poetic