colour

Yellow, blue and grey have for me pleasant assumptions, something like
an engineer's orgasm at the vulcan red and factory grey of the launch.
Blue butterflies and green lizards please me more even than peach skin
and deer brown. And that's just it... it all comes down to a colored
essence, a soul that comes out and touches you and says, "I am a deer
brown, a soft, mysterious call to calm, a personal invitation to wander
deep in the forest where you will see will only black, brown and the
charismatic grey of the sky, as well as the electric green of moss on
trees and the ferns that sprout up everywhere but, despite the drab
colors, you will feel colorful. Not so in E-land, where color is
everywhere harsh and far removed from a primitive, jungle fruit in the
furry hand of a manly baboon, staring stupidly but seeing red, as I
have never seen red. For even when I feel furious, I have to see green,
for I see them, these handcuffs of green with which they chain me to my
office desk. Yes, even when I don't see it, I see the grey of the city,
keeping me out of the forest. You can't make up for it with a
violetish-red, fantastic yellow, sparky fresh-cut green and African
skin behind every helmet on Sundays. You can't make up with it with
LSD, where the holes in your vision are filled in with the brightest
living greens, blues, reds, and oranges, because it's just my ancestors
in me, reminding me of the color of life.