Somewhere between dawn and the first sour morning breath—the last memory of the erstwhile day, with the remains of cold tea left on the terrace with an ashtray full of butts, begins to dig a gap in my skull yesterday's thought: what is our planet a communicative about? due to the fact that it's not about ideas. About man?
Somewhere between dawn and the first sour morning breath—the last memory of the erstwhile day, with the remains of cold tea left on the terrace with an ashtray full of butts, begins to dig a gap in my skull yesterday's thought: what is our planet a communicative about? due to the fact that it's not about ideas. About man? The red book, critically endangered species, both die from exhaustion or crushed by the weight of their own history. Is that thought, seemingly shallow, of the author's drowning?
In the informational gibberish, in the gasoline smoke, in the city's roar, the sounds of rockets falling, in the seas of algorithms, still, nailed like geese carcases to the gate of the barn, the innocent question that was asked yesterday is: what weighs more present – an thought or a man? And all time individual tries to answer me with the seriousness of a prof. who's never gone beyond the hallway of his department, I feel like giving him a slap in the face. due to the fact that the cruel fact that we don't want to pass through our fingers, say it out loud and show it around the surviving area is: what will last? It's not a question of meaning, logic, physics or philosophy. It's a war. What good is simply a winner to the planet erstwhile there are no living?
A bullet without a weapon – pure possible that will never pull a trigger, or a weapon without a bullet – a metallic body, respective gold in the last earned in the scrap metallic cluster?
The full communicative of this insane species is simply a parade of dead ideas and burnt people. Christ, Barbara Zdunk, Adam Smith, Che Guevara, Kennedy, even mediocre huntsman S. Thompson, who blew his brains out erstwhile the thought of freedom failed to withstand the collision with gas bills and the cognition that the planet sold its soul for a colored tv and lava lamp with a floating glut.
It's a habit to make ideas, these small cannibals increasing stronger, feeding on what we're gonna shove in their mouths, like a chaotic animal that yet stops needing its trainer. Communism, capitalism, freedom, God, revolution – sacred words covering the rotting corpses of those who believed besides much. There's nothing more dangerous than a man who serves anything but himself. due to the fact that then you can justify any filth: war, camps, crosses, monuments full of dry flowers and the odor of burning out candles. "Holy thing", followed by nothing but silence and dust.
Idea. If you ask me a golden man who has seen close ideas of people scattering like foxes on a busy highway, I will always say: man. Ideas – bulletproof spirits do not bleed erstwhile they fail. They don't cry erstwhile a sacrifice is made. They have no responsibility. They walk from mouth to mouth, from age to age—cleaner, more abstract, little and little human, sitting on a paper throne and telling them to worship, until individual yet dares put a powder barrel in their butt, firing a fuse. These beautiful hallucinations, the fog hanging in the air, the enticing odor of gasoline, and then individual always sparks.
And a man – a stupid, mediocre man – who drinks, cries, yells, loves, betrays, feels, who most frequently does not care as long as he has adequate fuel and courage to stay alive before dawn. There is any hope in this misfortune that this flagelant idiot will yet realize that the only thought is... Him.
Two cats stormed the terrace trying to make a third. A broken coupette, scattered butts and an angry dog moving around the kitchen, waiting for me to open the door for him. Clock time inactive gives me the advantage of a planet delirious on the horizon. inactive a fast nap, then a brief press, awareness of the inevitable failure. And yet I'm inactive inventing a reason for all tomorrow, which in a fewer moments will be present to get out of bed and decision on. There's so much work to be done...
