Aquarela

Recalcitrant rhythms resonantly radiating, extant titans in solace and storm.

Oceanic depths demonstrously reckoning, with iron clad rigour, tempestuous, torn.

Meaninglessness instantaneously manifested like unexpected irate judgment, lost in languorous indecipherable fathoms undulating 'cross sundry shivers, timbral shock declaring ubiquity unstable impacting environs, slow and steady primordial pace, intuitive galactic prayer.

Empirical algebraic reduction.

Coldly, chaotically, induced.

Windswept whispers elusively locked down glacial permanence reconcilable embrace, polar movements unpredictably sculpted, incessant vibes, transport routed.

Clues in/determinately emerge obscured in novel revelation, patterns, designs, coordinates, attuned in isolated drafts, unfiltered divined tidal blooms.

Forlorn physicist.

Iceberg embers.

Proceed with caution, with no definitive structure subsumed in sunstruck substance.

Perennial voyage, distinct discovery, august illusion, as a matter of fact.

Built up bulbous bewilderments belittlingly break free, unseasoned shards of dissonant longevity, set adrift to shyly spree.

Ride fickle withering waves in jagged awestruck miniature, your momentum erratically fissured, your contention like fitful shrouds.

Steering through known logical flux, carefree yet crucibly ground, raw pure unkempt asseveration, viscounted, inveterate, cortical.

Washed ashore.

So that the world would resign to forget what it's trying so hard to remember.

Ambrosia, aeronautic amnesia.

Synchronistically bound.

Viktor Kossakovsky takes impressive risks in Aquarela to film the unparalleled power of water.

Around the aqueous globe.

As it overflows with stubborn caprice.

And hesitantly taunts conception.

Voluminously.