(Image: notepad on clipboard, with coloured words, reading:
The idea was that you controlled all of your colour, and it was only when you chose to open your pencil-case that your colours could overlap with someone else’s. It was not that the yellow streetlights or cut dandelions influenced how you thought and walked down the sidewalk. The people who waited with you at the lights could not influence you any more than the victims of a predatory social system who drank at your feet.
Everything you did in the city was because of your passion and hard work and anyone who said otherwise was either lazy or drunk – or both. You could be completely independent: you had made you clothes and paved the streets and mined the coltan for your iPhone: you were a marker, uninfluenced by other trances, and didn’t rely on others to survive.
Your style was objectively unique; your friends never copied actors; your language was never borrowed- although you had certainly not invented the language, or a single word in it.
Could it be that you were playing out the copy of another person in your city, neighbourhood, building?”
The story starts in black ink, and is eventually overcome by a mix of pink, red, orange, green, and blue.)
word & colour by Liam Lachance