Daisuke Yokota: Vertigo
I faintly saw three lines connecting in dim-light.
It didn’t take long to recognize it was a corner of the ceiling.
Orange flickers jumped into my sight telling the time.
My eyes got more sensitive as I woke up with all lights turned off.
Electric appliances scattered in the room illuminate as if it were a planetarium.
I am in a hotel room, far away from the place I usually live.
A chair, a desk, a bed, a mirror...
There are less things than can be called minimum.
This room has nothing for me to extend on.
I feel fragments of my memory have filled up every corner of the room,
as they loose objects to be connected with.
It must be raining outside.
Rain drops keep hitting something with high-pitch sounds at a certain interval.
I, perhaps half asleep, connect uneven intersecting passages of time one by one.
My sight has lost objects to see, floating in the air,
With my consciousness suspended in its root.