December in a Cold Country

The King and the Queen have become like phantoms, they both have returned to the way that they previously were, in their comfortable versions of repetition and existence. The book is speaking of departure and memories. Winter looms, there is no food on the table, and the hunger lies somewhere at the back of the heart. Predictable conclusions are screaming their truth, whilst life remains in deathly eyes. Extraneous loving feelings try to persist somehow in their confrontation to the dark reality. A world has changed, it is no longer on fire, there is an empathic smile nonetheless towards the place where weakness appears, as perceived by convention. The electric landscape is showing urgency and its dynamism is aggressively suggesting a new and extravagant freedom. In the city, the lion has succumbed to truth and has awakened to the idea of tranquility. Nothing is new and change is repetitious in itself. Dogs bark and prams are pushed, there are new people born, the continuum remains intact. December skies with the prospect of a new year. A new year with a new number, a change. In this room, the sound explodes, there is no requiem, as there is no death, just a deviation from a constancy that scared itself away from permenancy.