Shadow spirit.

I was confronted by my shadow in the street.

I studied it.

I eyed it through the lens.

Its presence filled, then overwhelmed the viewfinder.

It loomed over me, demanding attention.

The camera captured no more than a lie.

I play with the image.

I find myself annotating the intangible.

A shadow spirit walks the street still.

It has broken its bounds.

Cost per click.

I clicked on the small tab at the top right of the ad.

I opened a menu.

I found:

"Why am I seeing this?" 

I wasn't really seeing "this" at all.

I clicked out of curiosity.

I was met with:

I find "myself" "interested in luxury goods".

"Manage your advert preferences"

"Take control over the adverts you see."

I am amused at the idea of "taking control."

I find a red heart, (my heart gushes) and words: 

"Your interests"

My interests? I think not.

Grid after grid of "interests".

Audi France wants to reach men aged 35 to 55.

Fuck them.


Nowhere do I find mentioned: light, shadow, wind, rain, storms, dusk, clouds.

I make screenshots, a gif, a collage and tweet.

Fuck them.

Shadowbook pic.twitter.com/F2i5VDLiJK

— Simon Ensor (@sensor63) February 28, 2017

They know "everything" about "me", they know nothing.

Storm warning.

It was the sound of the wind in the tree which stopped me in my tracks.

Its branches were swaying wildly, casting shadow.

We stood there witness, I, ears to the fir.

It shrieked dumbly a storm warning.

I took my time to take note.

I took my time to listen, to look, to feel, to breathe, to remark the backgrounded noise of the city.

An ambulance siren speeds past. 

A drama, an accident, a death?

I know not.

No matter.

No story. 

No body.

An ambulance siren speeds past.

A wind blows, the tree sways...

I cling on to it, as a sailor to a mast of a boat, tossed on an ocean.

A wind blows, the tree sways...

The pages of a blog written by Mary Ann Reilly.

Between the By-Road and the Main Road: Dark Energy & God's Steady Breath: https://t.co/a24BnlenFA

— Mary Ann Reilly (@MaryAnnReilly) February 26, 2017

Words capture no more than a lie.

Therein lies our truth.

Shadow Spirit

I find myself annotating the intangible.

I play with words.

A shadow spirit walks the street still.

It has broken its bounds.

“In any case life is but a procession of shadows, and God knows why it is that we embrace them so eagerly, and see them depart with such anguish, being shadows.”
― Virginia Woolf, Jacob's Room