At all times I need
A brief glimpse
An opening in the midst of
An incongruous landscape
A glint of flashes in the fog
A dialogue of two passerby meeting in a crowd
That has a name or not
And I think that
Setting out from there
I will put together
Piece by piece
The perfect city
Made from the fragments
Of what is mixed up
But yet esoteric and with the rest
Of instants
Seperated by intervals
Of signals one sends out
Not knowing who receives them
Never knowing who sends them .
All these thoughts in my head last just as long as a cigarette or a coffee or a chocolate cookie or a five minute orgasm.
Its like you smoke the bud , drink your coffee , eat your cookie and cum till the fun just stops , you wake up in the morning you go for your fucking work , the same old mundane whether you enjoy it or you don’t , It is still fucking mundane. That is it , end of the fucking list .
I am not the only one
Having a utopia wrapped inside and around my head,
But then there pops in your head , not like a light bulb but a ray of darkness through which you can partially and fully see : the meaning of “life” .
But then again imagine living in a place you have absolutely zilch issues.
I would probably commit suicide .
1 comment:
This sounds like me talking to myself from the past.
Like it is possible for a whole person to sometimes exist within different people at different times. No wonder I don't feel quite complete all the time.
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