this beautiful sickness

it's on the other side of this beautiful sickness. i whisper lies, i shout dreams. i have forgotten about time. completely. i try to forget hopes i put in the cities. maybe i will succeed. but in fact it does not matter. i have never been to any city really. it's like stories about philosophers: they are funny but they do not really tell anything. kant-clock; heidegger-ski. boredom multiplied. i miss you, time. i miss the moments i always wasted.

::: i'm gonna hit it and against the clock :::