We Are Full of Speech by Nikhil Sharda

They pass quickly, the blue patches and red. An inverted triangle of white is cut by width of blue. There is a dome shape of scarlet with yellow fluttering away from it. Underneath, everything is hardness. Sounds intersperse the patches. The streaks of revealing grey associate themselves with a quiet whir. There are squeaking sounds as the black quadrilateral stops next to a red circle. A sweet and pungent flavour steals in upon the sounds of patches. There is the pleasure of solid that yields to a touch, an intimate sense of continuing victorious efforts.

This is the way a certain portion of the world would look to a solipsist out for an afternoon stroll.

He is walking along a city street, observing other people as he goes. He notices a man wearing a white shirt and a blue tie, a woman wearing a scarlet hat with yellow feathers. He hears a whir of automobiles; tyres on the paved street, the squeaks of breaks as a truck stops before a red light. His mouth enjoys a sweet taste, for he is chewing gum. Every motion of jaw sustains in him a thriving sense of accomplishment.

But, you will think, what a way to describe perfectly commonplace events. I agree that it is strange. The way however is not mine, I merely repeat the language of solipsism. The mode is to talk about “colour-patches” (presentation) rather than about “objects” (content) and the reason is that the former term clearly assumes less than the latter and therefore seems to avoid more problems.