Wednesday 1 JUNE 2022,  19.00 - 21.00

Location: Market Square, Vasa

Details of exploration:

Below is the overall 'score' or series of prompts that were used for structuring an experiment in collective writing (and reading) in public space. A series of prompts for timed writing/reading together in Market Square, Vasa, in conjunction with an agreed pattern of movement. Specific positions/locations could be moved or changed during the practices.



Location: Sitting towards the perimeter edge

Duration: 30 minutes writing

Interlude: 5 minutes (reflection, writing, sitting, resting)



Location: Moving in the square

Duration: 30 minutes writing


Interlude: 5 minutes (reflection, writing, sitting, resting)


Location: Scanning (10 steps, every 3 mins, in a line)

Duration: 30 minutes writing



Location: Gather around one of the trees to the edge of the square

Duration: As long as it takes

To the right is documentation of this exploration, alongside the texts generated through engaging with each 'score' or 'prompt'.


Location: Moving in the square

Duration: 30 minutes writing



Location: Sitting towards the perimeter edge

Duration: 30 minutes writing



Location: Gather around one of the trees to the edge of the square

Duration: As long as it takes


Location: Scanning (10 steps, every 3 mins, in a line)

Duration: 30 minutes writing






                                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ /// ‘’’’’’’’’


‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’    ‘’’’’ ‘’’’    ‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’ ~~~~~ !!! ooooooooooooo


-       cccccccccccccccc // ;;;;;;; ‘’’’’’’’’ ,,,,,,,,,’’’’’’’’// ‘’ ‘’’ ‘’’’ ,,,,,,,,,,,


I feel I have slipped into drawing, as if to mark this I shift to pencil from a pen. Following sounds has somehow pulled me away from language, and I am struggling to find a way back. Language fractures into a hybrid of signifying signs and symbols, a system of markers for notating trajectories and intensities of sound.


Upwards and away from the square, away from its formations of lines and cobbles and pathways. A swift curves a line. A gull loops and drop, catches the wind again and returns to orbiting the square. A turn swoops low to the ground, and a sparrow comes close to my side. Again, I am spotting, I am naming.


A segment of rainbow suddenly colours the greying skies.


I wish I knew the words for the different cloud formations – could discern cirrus from cumulus, differentiate nuance within the common naming of ‘cloud’.


There are existing names, names of categorising and of differentiation, for recognising and being able to classify.


Bird names, cloud names, the names of specific rock and stone, and grasses. Brand names loom large.


But then to work with these names only brings the seething world under the control of existing taxonomies and systems.


New ways of calling – a poetics of observation?


I follow the rainbow and it disappears behind the roof of Apteeki Apotek, just to the right of a satellite dish.


A woman looks back to follow my actions, she pushes her bike across the square, takes the seat and rides away.


A woman clutching a plastic bag shuffles across the square. I imagine she is often followed, but is she cared for.


To follow, to care for, to attend to. I do not know the etymology of ‘follow’. But I think at this moment of the word ‘swallow’, reminded by the swallow or is it the swift that screeches on the wind.





Follow and fallow.

I wonder why ‘swallow’ is pronounced like ‘swollow’, as if it had an ‘o’, and ‘fallow’ is not pronounced like ‘follow’, but rather sounding the ‘a’.


Strange idiosyncrasies of the English language.  


Etymology follows a word to its origins. A word without origins, or source – like an acousmatic sound.


A word devoid of source or origin.

Pure word

Pure sound.

Origin-less words.


To follow a word to its origins is also to take care, to be careful how one works with words.






Swallow as in a species of bird, or to ingest, or to take in, make disappear.

All these many meanings.


Writing as a following, a following which somehow follows itself.

To follow the incipient thought in formation, following something as nebulous as the clouds which now part to reveal blue.


Following, fallowing.

Fallowing of language – allowing it to rest, in order for words to seed and grow.

To follow, to keep up with, to stay with, to stay in touch.


Do you follow me?

Do you understand?


I follow you. I am with you. You have not lost me (yet).

I follow, I am still following.


To follow is to commit, to bring to the fullness of one’s attention. To here and not to there, with this and not with that. Try to follow more than one impulse and notice the dithering indecision that ensues.


Do I go this way with you or that way with the others?


To follow – what is yet to come.

Left to be continued, still incomplete.

Day follows night, night follows day.

Some events are predictable, others are more unfathomable, harder to determine in advance.


I begin to write and yet I do not know what will follow, what will unfold, what will ensue. I follow the writing but do not know where it will lead.


To follow a path.

To follow in the footsteps of.

To follow the lead.

To follow the crowd.

To follow a trend.

To follow a team.


In the end, everything that is living and breathing and felt right now escapes, resists, will be left out. This sense of anticipation, the waiting to begin. The photograph I just took is not this experience – experiences unfold in time, have a temporal dimension, moreover, are necessarily felt. Everything that escapes – so many felt senses in the space, so many imperceptible registers of sensation and of sensing.


Time escapes. I am not even sure what is meant by this, by this sense of time, what is this time that escapes and leaves no trace.


I look at the clock. It moves between the temperature and the time. In the hours spent here tonight, the temperature has risen from 17 – 20 degrees, time has passed between 19.00 and 20.22. But what can be held of that. Tomorrow much of this felt sense, I will have lost. Forgotten. All the moment by moment modulation of attention, second by second shifts and fluctuations of time’s unfolding.


Life unfolding.

Now unfolding.

This unfolding.

Here unfolding.

All unfolding.


I am counting steps. Counting as way of measuring. So much cannot be counted, cannot be accounted for.


All that cannot be accounted for.

What cannot be accounted for?

What does this mean?

Cannot be named and measured?

Cannot be written:

In books

In the records

In the archive

In the histories

In the news

In the memories

In the libraries


But maybe in the:

The stories

The songs

The whispers

The dreams

The sighs

The shadows


Our shadows now, marked long on the cobbled floor.

The curiosity of that group and the courage of the one who came to ask.


Curiosity. Curiosity escapes.

Resists. Resists. Seeps. Leaks.

Breaches boundaries where it does not officially belong.

Curiosity as an aliveness, a being alive in and to the world.


All the aliveness that has passed here, over all that time.

Yet no trace, hardly any trace. Save for a few marks and scratches on the surface of the floor. All that time erased, no, not erased, for time never really was, was never a ‘thing’ to try to erase, always an unfolding.


Unfolding, to unfold. All that time folded into objects and surfaces and things.

Breath and pulse and felt sense. All the ing-ing, the breathing, the pulsing, the feeling.


This writing – all that will remain is the writing and not the writing. Only the object of writing and not its experience, not the writing writing. The experience of writing (verb) resists writing (noun).


Writing resists itself.

Writing resists writing.

Thinking resists thought.

Knowing resists knowledge.


Writing escapes writing.

Thinking escapes thought.

Knowing escapes knowledge.


All verbs resist or escape their nouning.

Naming resists names.


The ing-ing of aliveness resists form, or rather static form, for form is always a little formless, always a little still in flux.


What escapes?

What will be lost or what may be liberated? Lost or liberated?

Forgotten or freed?


I cannot know how you are feeling now, what is holding your attention?

You in the sun writing, whilst I am now in the shade.

We are sharing this action together, but I can never of know the experience for you.

Somethings are never able to be fully shared.


What escapes, what resists?

Is this also what cannot be shared?

What cannot be shared?

What cannot be shared (in language)?

What cannot be communicated?

What remains undisclosed, undisclosable still?


What will I forget?

What have I already forgotten?

What leaks and seeps and spills beyond all means of capture and control?

What leaks and seeps and spills beyond our action into the square, into other’s lives?


Will they take it with them?

We will never really know.

We will never really know how.

You never know.

You never know for sure.


The text begins and sets in motion a train of thought, or rather of thinking-writing, the unfolding of word after word.

In every word, so much escapes.

So many possible trajectories of exploration, abandoned or discounted.

So many things missed or left unsaid.



Humming. Whirring. A steady burr. Background sounds. Rumbling. Sound carries. The sound of vehicles before they come into view.

As I look at the page to write, almost every sound is acousmatic, other than the sound of my pen on the page; the sound of my breath, slowing; the paper in friction with my clothes.


Everything else heard but unseen.



I look up. Yet without my glasses so many sounds feel acousmatic. I cannot tell the source from which the sounds are made. I strain to ‘see’ but cannot discern a clear origin. I ‘know’ that the origin of the sound is a bird, yet have no evidence as such to corroborate this.


Sounds that ‘now’ are outside my visual range, whose source or origin I cannot see – as I attend to the writing on this page.


A motorbike revs.

Girls chatter.

Birdsong, chirping, like a blinking eye.

Traffic, continuous.

A crow caws or maybe it was a gull’s cry.

Sounds continuous – traffic, chatter (close and far away).

The water fountain, constant trickle.

Birdsong, shrill, insistent.

A slow mumble as if from beneath.

A car beeps.


Still, how do I know? I name the sound, the sound’s origin, but without seeing its source. All these assumptions and guesswork and judgements made from an accumulation of experiences past and remembered sounds.

I close my eyes and try to forget all knowledge of sounds’ origins, try to forget what sounds belong to what source. I close my eyes to just listen. But why the need to close my eyes, for it is not even that I can see the source of sound. Yet even though I cannot ‘see’ – still the open eyes somehow call me towards recognition, towards identification, towards giving things a name.


Or maybe it is that I lack a language for acousmatic sound, for sounds stripped clean of source, dislocated from all originary sense of cause.


Pure sound. Sounds with no history or associations. What language might emerge for invoking such sounds, these sounds with no known originary cause or source.


Not so much without cause, but cause unseen, source hidden or veiled.

Veiling of naming.

A veiled name.


Lack of a sonic language.

A language where there is no agency making the sounding, only the sounding, no cause of sound only sound itself.


Pure sound, pure temporal unfolding.

What language with which to name.

No naming though, for pure sound is in motion, never solidifying into name, for names can often thing, and sound is no thing, nothing.


Attending to the all - a meshwork of manifold sounds. No, no ‘sounds’ for this plural already splits off sound into recognisable parts or separable units.


Only sound, only sound.

In its thickness, thinness, density, sparsity, intensity. Qualities, atmospheres. Sound as a moment unfolding. Registers of movements, of multi-dimensional soundings. Sound as a moving, fluxing, stretching shape or even texture, like a blanket or a fabric or a feeling of a thickened air.


A sonic language, that names only qualities. Crescendo and fermata, risings and dippings, and stilling in the sounding. Yet language seems unfit for such description, or at least my language which lacks the capacity for such nuance, the specific turns of phrase.


I imagine the sound described instead through drawing, through diagramming. Or as sharp pin pricks of bright light, piercing. A ground of dense, dull, ashy, powdery ground. A circling, circuitous line, moving this way and that, ricocheting back and forth, bouncing off one thing then another. This line, that line – entangled, over and over, the one running over the other, one cutting across another, the one picking up the dropped lined of the other and starting over in a different direction.


Am I looking for some system of notation, some way of translating this immaterial, unnameable experience into a form, which I can then further usher into language, or rather something to then let language be led by. A mediating system of lines and dashes and smears and blurs and erasures and scrapes and dustings. Dotting lines and thick streaks.


A visual language unfolds in my imagination now, which I then try to follow into words. Yet in the mediation, I sense the growing distance between words and that which I am seeking to describe. A gap, a spacing, a chasm of inarticulacy. I cannot find a way of connecting without the mediation of the image world.


Sounds stay somehow imperceptible, or rather undescribable, as pure sound. Either they become recognised too quickly, traced back to their source and named; or else, I stumble, and fail to find the adequate words. I imagine now that maybe punctuation alone might be a way of giving an un-language to the un-languable. A marking system of exclamations, indecision, of ellipses, and of sounds sharp, tapering away or of pause.


,,,,,,,,,    ‘’’’       ,,,,   ‘’’’’’’’  ,,  ‘’ // ,,,


,,   // ~~~~~~~~~~ ‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ???? ‘’’’ ,,,,’’’’ ~~~~~~~~~~~




No, I would need multiple lines in the one line, almost like a stave, or a way of registering the overlappings and layers. For even the line of writing forces the sounds into some linear sequencing, and I cannot capture the multiple synchronous unfolding.


19:43H /19° - 30 min


To follow


EIL423 - 10 SEC

TEY306 - 36 SEC

UYJ487 - 12 SEC

XB6815 - 15 SEC

TQZ786 - 8 SEC

CJU365 - 8 SEC

X1O026 - 9 SEC

EXF144 - 10 SEC

KMA427 - 9 SEC

RUF353 - 8 SEC

ICY237 - 13 SEC

FML925 - 10 SEC

FMI715 - 5 SEC

ZNO338 - 8 SEC

EOK169 - 46 SEC

BX774 - 10 SEC

HNR355 - 8 SEC

YIN852 - 41 SEC

VVI253 - 22 SEC

GIK557 - 16 SEC

NHF862 - 11 SEC

OVZ253 - 41 SEC

EOK168 - 54 SEC

XOM718 - 11 SEC

JJB143 - 12 SEC

HYZ276 - 11 SEC

CGH998 - 12 SEC

SZZ190 - 13 SEC

YHY520 - 44 SEC

GFC412 - 9 SEC

UVZ422 - 7 SEC

XPK481 - 5 SEC

XNS725 - 17 SEC

GIA742 - 10 SEC

HPZ967 - 11 SEC

RRO422 - 8 SEC

OXY714 - 11 SEC

16 X - 7 SEC

CFL100 - 9 SEC

CLA537 - 9 SEC

BPH 610 - 11 SEC

KSU441 - 106 SEC



19:09 / 17° - 30 min




Ding ding ding. Ding a ring ling. Clack tak. Trtrttrtrrtrttrrrtrt. PshrtPshrtPshrt. Roooom roooom a-rooooooooooooooom. Pshtpshshshtshtsht. Liha. Pela. Hava. Vittu. Auta. Parempi. Hahahahahaha. Iiiiiiiiiiii-oi-oletta. Caakaakaaak. Ei ei. Kaveri. Oli. clakt clakt clakt pft ggrggrrghrrg clack clack clack clack iiiñiiñiiñiññiiiñii ymörrö pieni ala natuela ala gggggggg iinininñiiñiiiiñiii tosa kavela “so be it!” grilli gggggggg piu ftttfftftttftttffftttfftftftftf gshgshgsh shuishhhhh prtprtprtpttprt-t t-t-t-t-t-tc oummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm ftptf gackgackgackgack! Gack gack gack gack ehm ehm-ehem haló HALÓ Halo? Halo halo halo! Halo halo halo HALO mita vittu halo! Hulu mita video ding ehm-ehm-e--hm uiuuuuuuuuuu talo totta uiuuuuiuuuuuu gack gack gack gack gack gack gack kansa sano talo hahahahahaha piu piu piu piu piu piu piu piu piu piu piu piu piu uiuuu ui iu room room rooooom retort trooooooooom rt rt rt vikko totta kai sompa clack clack clack clack soita mmmmmblabl a mmmmnbla schuuuu gack gack rmrm no-nii halo satana clack clack emma itede ei sisaa ei tai ei mññmññmñññññññ ha HA! Uiuuuu uiuu iu bird pipipipipipipi uiu iu okay pshpshshshsh ui ni niiiiiiiiii ey kenga pow! Ehem! Shhhhushuuuuuhshugsgsgsgsggggggg grilla huomena joka paika no-nii tssssttssts ilila gggggauuu ñgññññññññ ñ ñ ñ ññ ñ ñ ññññ ññ ññññññññññññññ vroooooom vrooooooom vrooooooooom! Vroomoooooom vroooom-vrooooooom vetta pipipipipipipipipipipipipipipipipipipipipipipipipipipipipipipipipi o- huomena aaaaaa haha iuiuiuiu ua! Ua! Ua! Ua! Ua pi pi  heipa gack gack gk gk gk pfft pft pft pft ik ik ik ik ik  vrooooom vrooooooom gack gack gack gack rt t t t t t t t t t rt t t tpi pi pi clack clack clack pi pi  piuuuu prt pi piu uiuuuhu aaaaahuuuu


(Is my voice always an acousmatic sound for myself?)


Gack gack gack gack gshshshmmmmmmmmm uhmmmmmmmm rtttttt BAM!


20:20h / 20° - 30 min


What is left out (resist description or storytelling)


Point 1 - Everything but these words on the notebook are out. Images. Never the sound. Always the sound. My back is out. Everything behind me.


Point 2 - As something comes closer, everything else disappears and is left behind.

The body of the shadows crossing in front of me. A seagull.

When looking at my shadow, I am left outside. What doesn}t belong to the square? Is not belonging the same as being left out?


Point 3 - The sun. The people. El lenguaje. Los pajaros. La gente. Las onomatopeyas reinan en este terreno. La acusmática se sienta a su lado. Asieta se sienta, no se sienta, asiento. Siempre hay un ass en asiento. No hay asiento sin ass. Las ruedas del carrito. Los pasos.

(Maybe people are left out by not knowing what we are doing -  but someone asked. He said “have fun”. I intend to).


Point 4 - (Now I really feel observed)

El sol se ha quedado a mis espaldas. Está ahora detrás del edificio y la sombra reina. El calor se ha quedado atrás. Lo acogedor del sol vespertino. La gente está detrás. El monumento está detrás, el supermercado K está detrás. Las bancas del paseo están detrás. La fuente, las tiendas (o algunas tiendas) departamentales.


Point 5 - Sumergida en la sombra que dan los edificios. Todas las piedras por las que he caminado están detrás.


Cada vez más y más la voz de las personas se hace más y más tenue. No se si siguen ahí o ellas también se están moviendo. Ahora los escucho, ahí están.

Es “tarde” y los puestos ya no están abiertos. Las playeras, no he visto las playeras ¿Dónde están las playeras?

Mi energía también está quedando atrás, o al menos se esta llendo a algun lugar diferente de aquí.


Sexto punto en la plaza - Así como muchas cosas quedan atrás muchas otras delante. El encuentro. Are the buildings out from the square? Is the limit not part of the entity?




Vögel zwitschern, Menschen plappern.

Krähende Möwen. Nicht verstehen, hören.

To chirp, chirp, chirp.

A seagull is crowing, another one responds.

To crow, crow crow.

Please bear in mind I did not have a better word,

Think of an agitated seagull and how it would sound.

Don’t see, just hear.

I’m not an audio-ornithologist.

What about the labour of an acousmaticist?

The acousmaticist studies the sound of things that can’t be seen.

I’m trying to overcome the I-only-hear-what-I-know.

Trying to overcome the questioning and just-bloody-do.

I can write and hear at the same time,

but I can’t write and observe at the same time.

Young voices on a bike. A chit chat of two girls on the right.

The horn of an ambulance, a motorbike on testosterone.

Why do ambulances carry filmlike traces of other places.
Do Finnish seagulls sound different than British ones.

The acousmaticist, equipped with a mic, is searching for unheard

species that only exist in recording, species that can never ever be heard again.



Words that I can read but not understand.

In order of appearance, I’m following my aesthetic preferences












                                                            Butcher Banker











An automatic door opens suddenly as I pass by.


A man who looks like David Beckham is advertising for a brand of watches. His heavily tattooed left hand which carries the watch reads LOVE. In the background, a badly photoshopped football hovering in the air.


Läällää myös


To follow Umlauts counterclockwise around the square.


A word, almost impossible to read:




Kesä in combination with a pair of lacquer white slides.




Buchstaben aufschnappen. Gleaning Finnish words from screens, windows, signs.


To place them here.


Waiting for their effects to happen


in the faces of those who understand. Like you




It’s a bit like eating candys in the dark



Läällää myös




Two girls carrying a diamond diadem in their hair

that glitters in the late sun

How it feels to walk side by side across the square

To look at each other and laugh

To in full diamond pride

What escapes is where they are now. I can’t see them anymore.

What escapes is where this writing wants to go with me

10 steps to the front

10 min later

10 years later



att följa

to follow




jag följer


en klargrön stol

en stolpe med ett klot längst upp i linje med en lyktstolpe med en skylt för parkering

klotet rostar, den grågröna färgen flagnar


annonsering förbjudet

härligt att se dig

let’s work together

sleep well

käytä pyörätietä

älä koske tolppiin ja köysiin

anna tietä suojatiellä

vapaata toimitilaa

fresh and new

tervetuloa töihin

pysähdy punaisiin

helpoimman kautta

tomgång förbjuden


maksa puhelimella

ett leende som fastnat

en person som hojtar i en hälsning –  de följs åt

en person på motorcykel klädd i svart med svart hjälm och svart visir

hen med väskan över axeln går tillbaks

en större grupp som går väldigt långsamt i samma takt

ett rep fastsurrat mellan pålar

ett finger som höjs

en hand som sticks in i fickan

två händer som viftar i takt

svank och en knut på plastpåsen

ett steg i taget

torgets sluttande yta en uppmaning

händerna stöder korsryggen

framåt med kantiga steg

det som övervakningskamerorna inte noterar

se det som inte för väsen

det som tar plats

det som inte låter

det som aldrig möts


blinkande ljus uppe på taket

skräpet som lägger sig mellan kullerstenarna grupper


Ääni ilman näkyvää lähdettä (akusmaattinen)

Missä tahansa torilla







nuoria ääniä


lintuparvi on siirtynyt kauemmaksi


ääniä yritän erottaa ääniä ryhmässä

sano sille vittu



mitä se olettaa

naurulokki liikkeessä

pyörän lokasuojan räminä

fat-biken kuminen kosketus

lapsen äksy ”Tule”


veden lorina

naurua penkeiltä

äänekäs keskustelu on hiljentynyt sorinaksi


toinen vastaa rääkäisee

huudahdus ”haloo kerro”

polkupyörä kivetyksellä

haloo haloo haloo haloo

Ei kuulu yhtään mitään

Ei yhtään mitään

liikenteen melu etäällä

lipputangon liina

kalalokki kalkattaa

mä luulen kans



ne on

pärisevä mopo

sun puhelin piippaa

sun puhelimesta ei kuulu mitään

En oo soittanut

kyl mä kuulen

mä koitan soittaa sille

no niin

isompi auto

ei ainakaan multa

veden lorina

varpuset korkeammalla

siritystä oikealta

äänekäs pikkuauton moottori

syvempi moottorin ääni



mä näytän


I don't

en kuullut en kuullut lähestyvää naakkaa

etenevä tärisevä ääni

yksittäisen varpusen sirkutusta

varpusten yksitoikkoista sirkutusta pensaissa

ääniä olut terassilla

etäinen hälytysajoneuvo


etenevä heikko sirinä

tuulen huomaamaton noste

veden lorinaa

äänekkäät keskustelijat ovat siirtyneet muualle




muovipussin rutistus

det som inte låter sig beskrivas,

what escapes description

skribenterna i linje, skriva 3 minuter ta 10 steg





det som lämnas


det som hänger

det som backar


det som sätter sig

de som inte kan

jag som inte kan

skuggan som lägger sig vänsterom

det som passerar

hen som tittar

de som lutar sig mot fönsterblecket


ta fast mig


ölen tog slut på silverscenens trappa

fler skuggor

vänder mig


stumpen av hela kroppen som reflekteras i silverscenens trappor









alla ölburkarna får plats i påsen


måsarnas bus




den bästa stunden

solen i örat

läpparna klibbar

fuktar dem

går 10 steg framåt








1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

avståndet mellan oss




21° C // 19:10

बातें, बातचीत, चि ल्लाना

खांसी, घंटी, खि सकना

खि सि याना, लड़खड़ाना, हंसना

चलना, गला साफ करना

ऊबड़ खाबड़, फड़फड़ाना

हि लना, हि लाना, चुभना

तड़पना, फुसफुसाना, रखड़ना

पटकना, बुलाना, बताना

खि लखि लाना, झगड़ना, घूमना

रुकना, रफ्तार, उबासी

मि लना, जलाना, जलना

बताना, पकड़ना, थरथराना

पि चकना, पि चकारी, धार

पानी, बेताबी, दोस्ती

खींचना, सींचना, फींचना

झंुड, मस्ु कु राना, देखना

ताड़ना, झांकना, ति लमि लाना

गि ड़गि ड़ाना, बलखाना

फड़काना, कागज, आँहें

कांपना, दूरी, लुत्फ

कांपना, भांपना, फुदकना

घुमड़ना, चरमराना, गि जबि जाना

सरकाना, खुदबुदाना, भि ड़ना

भीड़, हवा, बि खरना

चहचहाना, बि दकना, टेकना

खोलना, सटाना, चौंकना

आहि स्ता, झूमना, फंू कना

लड़खड़ाना, बौखलाना

Scanning - what escapes (resist description) //

21° C // 20:18

shadow in the grout

sound under the square

space of standing hook

in the ground

changing length of shadows

stopped time in the clock

patterns on each cobblestone

the number of seagulls

the number of seagulls flying silently

the waiting

the chewed gum

the stains

the heat in the back

the ending of the sunlit part of the square

broken glass

closing of shops

collecting of cans

why we are here

what makes us right

dust on the silver stage

beginning of shade

change in coolness

what is immediate

the conversation

the clouds

misalignment of reflections

the twisted mask bird’s eye view

view from below

what’s behind

the collection of cans

intentful walking

the voice on the other side of the phone

the bleached colours of the flags

change in the direction of cobblestones

the beginning of a song

the origin of a family

Score: To Follow

21° C // 19:45

गुलाबी पंखुड़ि यां

बासी फूल

नीले प्लास्टि का टुकड़ा

मसली हुई पत्ति यां

बि जली के तार

बादल, आसमान

नीली रस्सी, लोहा

पत्थर, प्लास्टि बोतल

नए पौधे

समेटी हुई कुर्सि यां

सीमेंट, एंटेना, कांच के टुकड़े