Sitting in the kitchen, where the time seems to be stretched. The sun in shinning, and sharing that beloved ray of sun, that belongs to me that belongs to none. With a feeling like this I can paint a piece that only the spring days can give expression to. Revolutionary on the ordinary, ignoring the not trespassing signs that everybody else seems to be setting all over. Absurd are the borders of the tangible, so i float. Where are the others? Wheat spikes in massacred fields, subsisting on the elements, clean of dust and plagues. I put my scanner glasses but I still can’t see… Is it the carbon, is it the methane, depriving of what is essential to live? Why do we are so used to far west’s happy ending stories? Why the march of this ants army can’t shake the exhausted territories? The giant is snoring. And I keep on digging where the waters have only but sand, as it may take a whole bunch of existences to make a tunnel from here to the fifth dimensional space. I can’t tell your affairs are in a sorry state, in the meantime, your belly bottom has a fluids escape. Slowly changing matter, from an overflowing handful of gifts to putrid quicksand lakes, what a haven of peace has being managed to be built. Stop looking right and left, to the sky and then to earth, crossing signs, prayers waste, revolutionary methods that take more than they give. It is not needed, look in your chest, you were born with a pumping system that is knocking from inside. Get naked and pull the door. B_Nour
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