Aren’t we all made of the same matter? The temperature is regulated by biochemical influx; the mind comes after to disrupt the generic gifts. I create beauty as you create a dramatic turbulence just for the sake of killing time. The power to regenerate from filth is determined by an inherent sequence in our code, but deciding to break circles is difficult, specially, if they are no eatable. I am tempted of, in any moment, spitting the ignition spark, directional, determined to set on fire the weeds around, not to cause a catastrophe but making a purge in the name of balance. My voice is evoking a crying jazzy clarinet, a decoy that does not work for the deaf but I might still have some kind of hope with the blind. How can we be so equal and so antithetic at the same time? Animal stock, blood, sweat and tears, and vibrant nerves we walk along as tightrope walkers. You, the assassin acrobat, like in the horror circus movies, there is always one. I choose to hold a lady’s umbrella and play the flowing role; I am ready to spread my baby wings and fly, being optimistic I presuppose that there is no safety net; I don’t even take into account your prod. For more that I try, I can’t conceive the abyss that has grown between the two cuttings from a same seed. Free willing, making use of the whole range of what is statistically improbable, you made it possible. Such a whimsical dimension godfathers us; we are thrown in a whirling pond of mud that as it gets solid doesn’t become any other thing but a shifting land. B_Nour
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