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Mornings now look like grass on fire. Underneath the fire, the grass still breathes. Lacks any consonance, lacks colour and weight, stares at the sky and waits for the plea of whatever may come and give the void a sense. Dreams upon dystopias that fail to appear, fail to break into pieces of what is real. And it struggles to keep content and lucid, to keep alive the possibilities that now tend to paradoxes, but of course, imminent and forseen, the fires cools and the grass decomposes in ashes.
And now mornings smell like burned faces. Flesh and skin and plastic and the wood underneath the plastic, the ground with the mud and the soil and the creatures that live there, in the odour of people call air. And this is what it’s left to be seen on an empty surface, of no people and no knowing and no buildings and no remorse, just as the words remain catatonic under leftovers, no prophetic skies and eschatologic clocks running counterclockwise, with subtle grins on the faces of the clocks.
Many things are beautiful but are also useful at the same time? I hear someone say yes and someone saying no. I’m not here to criticize but a shield made of gold just to stare at it,is disgusting, but a shield made for defense is superb. But after this words, a garbage can is beautiful? Yes if done properly.To dream in a nest ,to slide on the clouds,to swim in the ground.Why David?why can’t you survive the pulse of the dramatic wind?If you ignore the reality you can wish to be on a blackfield with some red wine.
Who mentioned ‘garbage’? Or in what way was ‘garbage’ understood?
Doar un mod de a spune,este o continuare a ceea ce am spuns,nu am facut referire la “068. As the seas are emptying” daca la asta de gandesti:)
Asa am interpretat. Am inteles acum.
Eu nu critic si la tine am numai cuvinte de lauda sa zicem asa:)