I once believed I was a gifted ballerina.
She beseeched me for something to live for,
so I started painting it for her.
Welcome to my wordly world!
Water of Life
I have been on this all my life and again last night, I fell asleep dreaming about its wonderfulness and when I woke up, my skinny arm stretched to reach the glass of water. I am here, naked in the depth of this old apartment as it became quite cold on Atlantic Avenue.
Marked in the Starry Veil
Aries Concurrency is running high and I feel like we should add a little bit of contrast here to highlight some important features. But the mirror broke to fragments already and very vaguely can I foresee the reflection of my own image. Indeed, I am working right now and I am sweating my bows days in and nights through. Under the eclipse of the day, the labor force tells me what to say; as when the stars silently shine on me, I hurry before it gets blurry. And during daytime, I pray that I may connect all the dots in their most orderly fashion. Indeed my being must prevail with great attention to details. The mission is pretty rough on the corners and at times, I can’t even expose myself to dear friends. In all crude honesty I’m being tricked to maintain proper friendship.
Something quite strange just happened. I think there might be something wrong going on. How could it be that everything I read, I had already read before? Is that even possible? It must be, since every time I turn a page, the new page seems like the same old page again. And the story is still the same; the same words, the same expressions, the same ideas, the same flow, the same voice, and the same intonation; all this with the same message.
The Little Black Book
Her elbows rested on the table with both palms supporting her head. There she was, silently crying while her teardrops delicately fell on her little dog’s back softly sleeping on her laps. “Why, but why?” She felt sad and confused from knowingly not understanding exactly what she had accepted.
Black Emits Light
I was all alone walking through a tunnel, pitch black. I wasn’t scared, not even a tiny bit. Droplets of water delicately slipping* from the ceiling sounded like high sharp notes as they merged with the narrow spotted stream on the ground. It was the perfect melody for the entrance of a magic choir; perfect song that endlessly sang about the beauty of its beginnings. The humidity hanging in the air was filling my lungs, lavishing them with Gospel and Soul. I was neither cold nor hot – just perfect temperature; throaty, vulnerable, rough and conversational. When I entered here, I was willing to pay the price for everything. I said: “God you may create with my life the piece of art that fits your needs.” I promised myself that I was willing to suffer anything for I knew he would even subprime loans for my life if he was to send me overboard. It felt strange in here, like if the outside world was transforming the laws of nature for my sake. Something’s Got a Hold on Me: “I get a feeling that I never, never, never, never had before.” After a long while of walking itsy steps with the exact same movie unfolding before my eyes, it seemed like the world would never see in colors again; stuck in a black and white filter. I felt like a stranger to this world. All I wished for was to tell my story with no filter, in my own deeply emotional way. Thus, filled with the spirit of courage, I sharpened my machete and stood ready to lead the way. I said: “Oh Almighty show me the way to enter the world for I now have a voice!” The world was out and at last, about to hear me sing my song. Was it just my imagination? Were my eyes ever going to see the light? I waited. How come there was still no light? I was tired of waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel when suddenly Something Got a Hold on Me again: “My heart feels heavy, my feet feel light, I shake all over…” and out of the Blues I finally lit that light up myself.
Valentine’s Official Playlist, 2021
Maestro, kindly send the intro in private mode, and to assure proper delivery, please operate on the line labeled as Le Premier Ciel: “Tous les sons du premier ciel sont plus loin comme un appel...”
The Blueprint of my Hometown
Time is running out and I am at last realizing that there has been a black and white filter altering the first version of my town. That being said, the original account is no longer available in its full life edition. What has been recorded in memories, pictures, written proofs, and so on are all valid for the sake of this account.
The Mystery of Bitcoin
Hi Bitcoin, kindly hand this message to your creator. Thank you for your recent letter. I am lonely back here, and aware that I bate this “mystery” with an unusual awkward angle. I apologize in advance for any offense and my heart is already filled with sorrow. I hope that my words will be well received as there is a tiny window in my house from where I can share glimpses of how my land is intertwined with your mystery. I like it when things are mystic for it allows a space to play around with specific details, stretch the ones where we hold a string, and decide whether to leave a door closed or shine a specific light on a peculiar aspect.