If you find your eyes lingering on these textures long enough, perhaps you will slip into a daydream, of looking but not thinking. Or perhaps, you are thinking, but you are unsure about what you are thinking of.

I don’t remember my dreams. Day or night, they just happen. I know they happen, but I don’t know them. Much like the way things rust – organically, unpredictably through a passage of time and space. Some times beautiful, other times a horrific mess.

These are natural reactions. Things rust, and we dream anyway.