We are concerned with your story telling about events, other goings on in place. They do not exist in a plane of their own. The figures are not two-dimensional ,hung by a thread ,triangularly to the wall.
Their eyes protrude from sockets and lips,the eyes , one to the north and the other screwed to the western pillar, in a squint as if dislodging a sun ray from the skylight.In short they lack flesh and some bones and they loom large like noon shadows,dark and menacing, in the high afternoon.
They can scare the shit out of your eyeballs when you are not careful of their coming.They zoom past, on their soundless bikes and rip your alabaster necks from behind.Your gold will stop glittering for their highs and you will remember your grandmother.
Living moments 