The crowd is a kaleidoscope where we reflect ourselves We are one in a million and yet we are a million The target, the arrow and the archer will meet at some point Beauty is a cloud running in a bright eye, the brush of a lash Photo Hugh Ardoin The Galleries
Floating like a white ghost in a black crowd In his mouth a red balloon with white spots An hallucinated magician with a poisonous shroom The Masquerade is a kaleidoscope of illusions They are apparitions that belong to hallucination A photograph may record or distort the instant Maybe it is just some kind of surreal […]