Here it hits. Once every year, for the first twelve years of each doom filled century. On a date like this; a date like this.
A triplicate run of numerals lining up along the gallery. All the same. All knowing of each other's fit. They who would be triplets sharing an identical nature; split from the same cell. Born under the same sum, running with a different hum.
A fleeting comradery fills their stock. Held in the unnaturally natural fibre of their being. Defiant against cultural factions—warring to find a stronghold through numbers across the world—their stand together shines through to mark the unremarkable. The normality of simplicity and the idiocy of inconsistency.
Conversion from the masses for the masses.
Shimmering for just this one time under the spotlight, void of conflicts and unknowing gestures shot with looks of despair.
This is not a fantasy. This is reality.
This is how it should be.
Thank you Kylie
Written on Thursday, 5 May 2005