OUT OF THE SPACE-TIME CONTINUUM

Here it is again, and when it comes, it’s like a flood, unexpected and devastating, but renewing at the same time. I’m not welcoming anything, there was no invitation sent, it is just here, compelled by the parameters of a strange force. So I will start talking about the physical limbed body, the outcoming illusion of this delusional experience we call life. Why do we get so often involved in the time wasting, procrastinating vomit insulting the universe? How can I choose the right words? They don’t exist. It’s just a matter of taking a sudden decision, full of uncertainty, with firm attitude. I can’t tell what goes through my numbed physicality, a myriad of sensations, which under the world’s eyes are invisible, insignificant, an atom filling the void. I can only express clumsily and I can’t make anybody to understand or believe in me, because empathy is also a creation of the intellectual mind. So condemned with the blessing, as I am in this life, of making soul work , I have taken the resolution of walking my way alone, without the need of sewing patches or blindfolding my eyes. The only idea of doing that, which would make me terribly sad in the past, invigorates me with joyful self-sufficiency now-a-days. Today, 11 of January, such a significant date on the calendar for me, I will start collecting pages that maybe will just engross the flames of some anonymous bonfire. On your behalf, they may make you warm, in your coldest hours, as you surrender to dreams as the only reality. My ways differ their ways, and as I am expected to behave as a piece of meat, and I don’t. I have come to develop an obscene delight in ritualism and solitude, I am a freak between freaks, and there is not possible identification of adherence to any group. So the only option that is left is to take advantage of this situation instead of getting mad. Anger was eating my molecules, incarcerating my spirit in my humanity, equaling that word: “humanity”, to limitation, yoke and burden. Read these lines as if they would have be written with blood ink, using a feather of my avian spirit body, because I couldn’t find any other pen suitable, or better said, acceptable. B_N