Yes! Yes! Yes!
30 minutes are enough, I guess.
a nihilistic piece of art,
a book written by an half-alive writer;
or probably even Sartre.
We were tiny things,
cups of coffee,
spilled coffee on this huge tablecloth made of lines going up
made of lines remaining as dots.
when the last of what was goes and gets replaced
by the one who is not yet here,
the flow will change
the human will know
the bells will ring
and the all Universe will know,
WE WERE HERE!
lines form and invite me to dance.
I am tired.
for in refusal I evolved,
in acceptance I was raised.
Nothing! – I add,
for only adding I can.
sometimes subtract, then add again.
what a fool!
I was ready to close my eyes and go into eternal sleep:
drunk, forever in love, drugged, no sense of time…
under the purple shade of that magic tree.
mistook myself for an egomaniac,
while only caring for the dance of leaves,
and movies outside of the boundaries where conscious mind reaches.