in the sense that it makes sense

as you stylishly swallow white mushrooms and watch the dead factories as you shyly lie on your death bed ::: you watch the string of time ::: as it transforms your veins. and as you try to find the road long ago lost in the mirror the death rides its silent horse. the sky churns as the god mispronounces your name. by some uncanny chance, you can finish your book.

::: the zone :::

re-focus

the horizon was hit by some mysterious distortion. you were no longer by my side. the abyss gazed into me.

by that time i led paperless existence. i emerged with darkness and hid from sunlight.

once i had a library. once it was a part of some large equation that would promise me timeless pain if solved.

i had to live through that for several more years. all people i have known changed. i can’t say i missed them. i can’t say i missed anyone at all.

i felt as if i was mocked by some strange algebra of truth all the time. but – in the same time- i have found joy in the dissociative lattices of the universe.

i felt the need to become ubiquitous but chose not to pursue it. still, it was my pattern and it is not easy to escape one’s pattern.

a broken window cried into an empty street. the crowds were bored with the unbearable. then - as if god’s hands clapped - they vanished.

::: as if :::