Another little vignette that i've been playing around with.
The story of a man who sees the world in a very different way - Perspective, interpretation, visual understanding, acceptance, and how one individual may see something so very different to the person sat next to them.
I moronically contemplated from within the comforts of my own bedroom that the house at the rear end of my garden must be at least thirty meters away.
The outlook was that of bricks, tiles, gutters, windows, and stone, which formed the only open side of the house, as it was the first house of a many great number of terraced houses.
As I continued to stare at the house from where I was sitting, I slowly created a portrait in my mind which acted like a sheet of wallpaper that had been printed in the design of the house that I was looking at. And it was as if the wallpaper had been carefully pasted upon the outside of my bedroom window, that I believed to have offered a view of the outside world.
I began to think that this claustrophobic perception was now comparative to imprisonment, besides the fact that I knew I was a free person.
For if it wasn't for the haze of light from a late afternoon of wintery blue, which permeating its mediocre strength into my bedroom, I could have easily adjudged that time had just paused for a brief second. And in that second, where I was carefree of thought, where I pondered my own existence, my very own life, in terms of being held captive within a frozen moment of interpretation - I thought it was about time that I stopped looking at this 'wallpaper house' found discernibly at the foot of my garden, and bring my self back to reality.
So I exited my bedroom, put on some shoes, and went for a walk along the canal in hope of ridding my head of anymore woeful and subjective conclusions about how I see the world.
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