Usual day
Usual day, the usual newspaper to leaf through with that thin and hollow shade of one who drifts through the usual paper routine, clock-punching, rhythmic. A clipping blade
would fit right in to interrupt the coffee break - tossing any face into the green water besides - as cause-effect philosophy to stay acquitted, cleared, and kept clean
from the vicissitudes of office grind. But still, despite it all, the Universe always keeps the last good thing in mind. No one should ever feel themselves apart.
Life must be seized as though it were the last act left to own and fully live… I feel the vibrant shocks run through me here. I wouldn't know if it were better to survive
or picture to myself the fairy realm embraced by everlasting peace, awoke by flutes and clarinets. A quiet balm: at the end, if one imagines, one falls mute.
And having let myself be carried long by such sophisticated, sophistic doubt, the pen has vomited this very song of vermilion and cursing tone, no doubt.
