Ragged doll, insignificant tinder ready for the fire, blooming the wild way, with no questions, no permission and definitely not apologetically; just like life, incorrect, do you remember? Who is judging the uneven mottle on the ladybird’s back? Who is banning the beasts’ public fuck? There is a time to praise and a time to mourn, and all the in between celebrations may be doing well staying in the past, the place where we departure from with the end of every exhalation. You can spread me over the table, reduce me to the meaning of a deck of cards, interpret the lively warmth of my microcosmic organism to your desire but that won’t be it, because I am not an equation in which solve for x can be calculated, neither are you. My love, my love, what have you done? You traveled the oceans of despair and now life is a picture of your cataclysmic cruise. Is this all that there is to a life’s quest? Such an economic spent! What a frugality! What is left for Thalia? Liquid gold being spilt in mercury puddles, populating the air with clouds of lethal vapor. Solidified (in terms of the current state: petrified) . I know, I know… this is an ideal state, just being,… la la la . Morning light wearing night gown drinking from a newly full glass, getting intoxicated, blinding myself away, like there is some novelty to it. Because, what else? The expectancy of some foreign progress? No, the giant prefers to sleep. Let’s leave him alone, while life’s happening. Next chance will better, brighter, braver, because everything is perfect in the expectancy of tomorrow. Shit! I cannot get you a better sit. First row, orchestra section… Listen, someone on the microphone says: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to “Annihilation”. Fast forward, the rest is not an option. I see it, the binoculars don’t lie; terrorist spotted, we are all being blown up, too much sensitivity for the case. We never were here, there is not even a gravestone onto which kneel and sob. And the story goes on and on and on…. We learnt it in most of the cases; I’m soooo tired of saying it: tradition is bullshit. Clean cut, monkey business, just one life time’s knowledge, no technology, no philosophy, no religion, just love for the soil, the water and the air. No time for damaged souls, to bare them or to grow them. Am I am alien species? It is just you and me, dear earth. Who are all these infiltrators? Where are my fellows? My solitude is nothing but an ancestral yoke, it was described in some Greek mythical tragedy. I’m disturbed with the reminder. I’d better keep on walking, fast, before the sand burns me alive. And at the same time knowing that the option is there to construct or deconstruct at every step of the way. With a heart’s particle will be enough. I hear the distant rumor of yours shrinking … owww We are traveling, somehow tripping, who can tell? Wish or dare, be brave, dare to live, to receive, to be, I do, I woo, no shirk or slight smirk. We are all looking for something, seeking answers and vomiting chewed personal diatribes, in the name of truth, truth? What truth? Biased speculations meet remorse memoranda. No matter whose heads are rolling, the candy shop was open and some unscrupulous was out, haunting sweets. Now, no guilt is due, tell me another fable, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Yes, this is a trifle, stoic martyrs don’t even blink when they face plunder. But drama queens want a place on stage as prima donnas; that require some guts honey… to go deeper in a dancing alliance with the ancient purpose of your divinity. It almost sounds like a joke said like that, directing those words to the sad wet paper figure that I’m pushing with my index finger into the bottom of oblivion. Life is not over, it never was, despite of petty buzzing paranoia and its misleading chemical result; these are the deeds, no one is ever ready, there is not best or worst, convenient or not, only the wise have the knowledge to work with what is found and make of it something that is worth. B_Nour
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