The librarian walks around.
I look to my right and see a classmate watching videos on youtube about boards of canada, if she looks to her right there's a girl looking at her cellphone, the video has bicycles.
The people in the main hall can be heard all the way on the other side of the library.
I took no pictures today even though I brought my analog photocameras, there is no visual recording of this day.
I look to my left and see a large flatbed scanner, it says EPSON in big capitals and in smaller capitals it says "GT-20000".
The artworks behind the window looking into the hallway look partly improvised and partly thought out.
The reflection of a grey sky can be seen when looking up.
I think it should rain but the clouds seem reluctant to do so.
I will try to write a song today.
The brown artwork is a tree with roots.
I think that is a bit much.
The clicking subsides.
The librarian remains silent, with a sporadic amount of mouse-clicks to break up the quiet atmosphere.
I don't know what the song should be about, in fact I would like it to be about nothing which is something not easily done.
The silvery-blue artwork is made of old plastic bottles.
I liked it, it was great though I am not a fan of the cgi blood used in some scenes.
I can forgive them for it.
I am anton, I am a man in my late twenties.
The large television in the library is turned off.
The noise in the background is noticable.
The door of the toilet is opened and a girl with heavy dark make up steps trough and makes her way back to her work.
The scarf is plaid, red.
I rode my bicycle to my university, the road was broken up and I had to be creative in my driving.
I remember that my classmate records the traces of people trough frottage, it's interesting.
The fingers of students on keyboards seem to tickle my eardrums, they are a bit intrusive.
I will stay in school for dinner.
The white artwork is skeletal and weblike at the same time.
The words are on the wall and on the glass window.
I visited my personal coach who helps me in school, we discussed my plans for the weeks.
The amount of sentences should equal 26.
The noise of typing shortly intensifies.
The words released onto youtube spell titles of songs. 14
I am wondering what to do next.
I am wearing Adidas shoes, they were considered cool when my ex's uncle gave them to me as a present; I felt reluctant to take them.
I visit a university where I study arts.
The head of the author is filled with chaotic thoughts.
I think my classmate has a funny way of typing, she seems to be talking to a friend on facebook and I am not creepy at all.
The internet seems slow.
I think about the amount of documents that must have been scanned on the machine, there are scratches on it.
The voices can be recognized.
I saw monkey heads.
The cables of the computer hang against my feet and are slightly irritating.
The girl next to me changed between videos.
I signed up for a few courses, my academy requires it's students to do so.
I eat and drink at breakfast, lunch and dinner.
The library is lukewarm.
I notice that my fingers already hurt from typing, or maybe from sending text messages from my phone.
The radiator makes a low rumbling noise.
I record stories and poems on casette tapes, they find their way into simple installations.
The garbage bin is empty.
I watched the first episode of Ash VS Evil this morning.
I am warm, I am wearing a leather jacket and a fleece vest over a brown t-shirt.

The slower the beat of the soul,
The faster it's vessel goes
When reality's the only dream
Where you don't want to get out bed for
Everyone eventually must also slow
And scrap for change to pay the toll
When the road splits at the seam Thank those yellow lines of metaphor

When I first observed the rare glass like shimmer in your eyes, I was unaware that in a few months I would look into those very eyes and fantasize on how they'd look in the morning when the only thing you'd view was my messy hair.

When I first observed the rare pink your lips carried, I was unaware that in a few months I'd kiss them and I'd taste the deviness of the creator , unaware that I would like that flavor to fuel my everyday for the rest of my life

When I first observed the rare combination of lines on your palms, I was unaware that in a few months I would envision paint in the incisions , paint from our new apartment.

When I first observed you
I was unaware that in a few months
I would begin to see the rest of my breathing days

The world is full of obvious things that no one by any chance ever observes.

Quietly
Sitting
Listening softly
Conversation playing out
Jumping from topic to topic
Hearing stories
Silently
Watching

Silently
Watching
Observing carefully
Hand gestures further explaining
The emotions: amazement and concern
Absorbing information
Quietly
Sitting

I stood  alone on a path.
Looking around
the place was dark.
Confused
Quite scared
I kept on walking.
My feet was leading me
at the end of the path.
There was a room
huge and satisfying.
Entering
there were bags of golds.
People
Buildings
Animals
all were beautiful.
No signs of worries.
Seemed every thing was good.
The feeling was pleasant.
As I walked around
I heard noises.
Cries of babies
Moaning
Yells
Growls
and even the beats of a heart.
The other room-
there was another room.
I searched.
Following the noise
it lead me into a room
filled with sufferings
and questions.
People were thirst
of many things.
Observing in the room
I felt sadness.
A tear rolled down
on my cheek
then I woke up.
It was a dream.
Outside, I took a walk.
Observing
Thinking
people around me.
I knew to myself
that it was not just
a dream.
It was reality,
where people
walk on path
and find themselves
either in a room full
of beauties
or
in the other room.

*-Steph Dionisio, July 10, 2015

Hovering over the road with a block of concrete meeting the soles of my feet and a gate fencing me in from making a quick escape, I looked out to the boardwalk only a short glance away. Riders and walkers, singers and speakers, all entering my perception then quickly vanishing as if that moment had been the only moment of their existence. Beyond the scope of their short stories that had only been real in my mind was a still black curtain, sewed to the clouds above my head. Its depth was infinite yet non-existent for there was no line of differentiation between the sky and the surface it paralleled.

I love observing a stranger's mannerisms,
they tell a story of their own.