Cloudgrin jumps over the edge over the world just when we are about to take a right turn towards the most western edge of the world where the tragedies are swallowed by the ever hungry emerging sanddragon fed by it’s mothercontinent close to the frozen fingers of the sinners on the northern sand dunes, dancing in the flashing moonlight, dead for the living, living for the dead.
Photographic reality snapped above Wedge Island WA March 2011, 13.5 years due that excruciating tragedy, untouchable. What you see is the opposite of it. Another western edge, a raising sintering pink sun skycuttingglassknifebeams in my back. Gearth projects a nonexistant airport near there for misterious reasons, as if an angelic landingspot awaits realisation. Though, no arrivals or departures there yet, Robert. (52.08.25.97-22.214.171.124) Yes, Close to the Edge. So did I arrive, the rest is crap.