My Zeitgeist, a spirit of the time, my time, is but a ghost.
Some parts of it are made of an intended legacy while others of unexpected heritage but all, are building blocks to the present.
Through me, they become what once were, and are processed as such, somehow innocuous and extinct.
Filtered by my pleura, they enter a gaseous state, unaffected in ambient temperature, ready to be taken by some, as if they are their first gulf of air.
These are the parts of the spectrum I’m building to all.