could use some poison/noises

maybe i do not need to sleep at all. because we are off-limits here. and the law is weak here in the same time. all because of corruption. it eats our bodies night and day. and in the meantime, we swallow the blue sun, inhale orchids and dream of penetration. this continent is full of boring streets; no open space at all, he said. there's no medication against that, she said. the world is withering, my word on that, announced an elderly man. it's like an endless autumn: empty anticipation of yet another winter to come. the universal fall.

::: the call to arm was never true time to abide here to you :::

personal satan

dead days overshadow the luxury of the impossible. i watched you paint this blood tinted impression. in this world there is no power ... just servants thinking they hold it ... they participate. the chair is empty, isn't it; every time you close your eyes:

i) be invisible

ii) be an island

iii) be intense

iv) be aware of, not afraid of

v) be concise

vi) be sharp

viii) float

ix) feel

x) think

xi) fuck forever

::: if it had always been wide awake, i would be floating :::

memories

endogenous. is the word. is the jump. never mind the gap is thin. there is always somehing that calls within. this night is going to be special. an end to all this endogeny. there are no more spirits to hunt me. and i think i have seen whole my hidden sea. all the waves that were me. the burning walls are so close now. is the word. is the jump. is the window. like a reversed bird i will fly. into the open, out of the hostility. and because of today i refuse all the tommorrows. the eternity is my sister anyway.

::: another line slowly divides... before the night is over :::

discrete blasts of inevitable soundwaves

take your time to measure the horizon. it's sunday the trees should be silent; the palms of earth. water sends energy to its enemies. the is the anticipated war. no one will ever survive this. picture your own death again. without a sound. this is the anticipated parable. a lonesome old man opens his umbrella. it displays a face. no eyes, no teeth. just the horrifying surface of the landscape, which erased your signature from the book.

::: forced to recourse to the past and future for supplemental satisfactions :::

meantime

thousands ... marked for what they were not responsible. how does this project into the future? or will they invent some other paths to extinction? there will be no garden of solitary monuments. no place for humble silence because the wind will never stop screaming over the wasteland. just gaze at the empty shadows. some old man said: i cannot withstand this possibility, yet i have to wait for it to happen. just step forward, announced the voice. let's just count our chromosomes in the meantime...

::: in between the second and the third skin :::

surprise, sometimes

every yr. touch is like some kind of revolutionary praxis. kidnap the masses and drop them somewhere else. i mean nowhere near. because everybody is here to hear that. sensation of black death. a lot of interruptions. the leader is anonymous. just a principle in fact. some kind of function the others fit in. revolutions are collective projections of an individual mind. and your heart is just a sad guitar reverberating into the eternity.

::: the small space i occupy and which i see swallowed up in the infinite immensity of spaces of which i know nothing and which know nothing of me :::

desireality

i try to redraw my maps; erase the lands to the east - the silent beast. january is as cold and quick as a heart can be. the dead rise from the shadow. the voice whispers i take my desires for reality because i believe in the reality of my desires it is the usual rhythm, regular recurrence, day beats another day and the trees grow from the sky. obsolete and ... hungry. and my dry eyes drink from the forbidden n. lake. and my tired hand draws an image of some other hand on the other side of this paranoid planet. is is eleven o'clock greenwich dead time. and beautiful rabbits run and run. the sun explodes into my face in the meantime. all resembles a sad conspiration of things against sensations. you will never know. the forest you chose to walk is blind.

::: watashi wa jidai-okure ni-ju-seiki umare :::

so long

just like something that slits the eye. just like some legendary nobody: you walk out like some legendary nobody, no one really knows you, everybody feels your gaze in their back. By its very nature the beautiful is isolated from everything else. From beauty no road leads to reality. now you remind me of blurred photography; the contours are visible but everything else is blind. and the walls are everywhere, my little cyberbird. Forgiveness is the key to action and freedom. i will dive. i will become. my will... the bottom of it all. serenity. the enclosure of water. total absence of air. no conditions at all. Love, by its very nature, is unworldly, and it is for this reason rather than its rarity that it is not only apolitical but anti-political, perhaps the most powerful of all anti-political human forces.

::: love by its very nature :::