Yellow
Journal entry: Why do I keep buying green ‘thank you’ cards?
I am yellow. I attract bees who take my liquor to a queen I don’t know. My father is gold—pillaged and overvalued, Asian more than anything else. I am an old design choice for homeowners spending too much time trying to update the concept of a kitchen. A bathroom tile. Don’t shit where you eat.
The sound I evoke is not particularly interesting. Everyone writes beautiful songs about the color blue. Even red, and these days I know of at least one album (-io, Circuit des Yeux) inspired by the color orange. My time is near, I just know it.
I am excited. I highlight the passages of your book that speak directly to me, so I never forget your wisdoms. I think of everything you’ve ever said to me, and cherish every phoneme. When I highlight them I can hear them. But when I fade, we realize, hopefully together, that some of your wisdom does not hold up to my ochreing effect of time. Then I am glad the ink is black. It will take much longer for that to fade.
I touch everything I see. I have the potential to be and see all of you.
