When we have ceased to be what we were taught. What we have wanted you to be. What you have thought it becoming. And what. And. When we unrolled our coils itself and that we will realize that we do more than raise the wire, even naked, or charged with what we have sewn, stitched, embroidered, enriched the course of his or quarrel embarrassment or even ignored, or replaced by others, or increased by destination.
It's windy. Windy in the walls, even sails, brick, concrete. On borders. Limits on hosts. Of the private grids. History has not recovered from its past follies. No one returns from the other side, before this century, where black pots were the worst finally overthrown without having actually taken notice of what was going to impart all the euphoria or calculations after the victories devolved to the people so they can feed on fresh hopes.
You still having trouble seeing with one eye at a time. As a share of gaze. An incomplete view. But gradually as you watch, you feel well disappear behind your eyes. Or rather, you do not disappear but all that you t'emplit decreases. Your importance is no longer valid. No one has added not one you've always had. Not that we could give you. But the serious and severe, and available walker, naively proud or darkly suspicious that you're available to yourself, apart from the world, apart from the others. Perhaps you imagine all that you'll be led to defeat you. You listen, fear challenging your laughter, the guardians of the status quo close. You would take each item of particular information on a particular subject, you Copiers on transparent sheets, thou overlay it, and you try to decipher a new text. News from the intimate and war news. News from home and news of a disaster. News from the North Pole and new scandals.
Like it or otherwise. The interference is perfect.
And you only read the new lingo. You do not read anything. However you feel tense a reflection, a sketch, a hypothesis. You're a street. You're a love. You're a family. On a pedigree. You are a few choices that you accepted their relativity. You are in color. You're of an era. In some music and some movies. On a god or its complete absence. You are a few books and teaching. You are a sex, beauty, were you said, a kind of a movement.
And if it had it all weighs less than us.
If we had nothing more than what it leaves as a trace.
What would you do so.
Once we reduced the furniture inside. Once melted the weight of knowledge stopped. Fallen layers of identity. Settled arthritic joints reasons. Once infused in you a fair enough share of which the mind needs.
You learn that you're alone again. Like when everything was changing. That everything had to say. But alone. Because nobody knows maybe more.
Only by dint of being more than itself. And by dint of being more of a time or place. From a belief enlivrée. As a sovereign faith. From an idea monolith. From a system proclaimed.
alone with the memory. To which must invent a solution. She no longer speaks through his upper voices of apostles or sirens. It continues to grow in the future before we have been able to decide otherwise. Only after
trees. And already more than a breath to propagate a future humanity. Only
everything that was said and written, and again, and rewritten. Worse than salt. And all his taste and dissolves all its strength in vain.
And you walk away. One way or another. If you're still good that you are. Taking only the essentials. Each one its geometry, its poetry, its sense of others, his essay, his small voice in a big empty room, its incompleteness, its duty obstinate, his naked attempt.
you walk away more and more numerous. Like us. Like all. All
daughters and son of those who killed to avoid being killed, or who have been killed by those who did not want to be.
All spectators, even indifferent, to no purpose other than destruction of inaccurate lulls before new disasters. All
without accounting ranks of wealthy Democrats Wholesalers and messengers brought good news in urns deaf. Here
oscillating between a trust immature ears of shells and omissions of plants camisoles images and sounds infusions. There
haunting plains neglected transpiring, and workshops verbs, defeats to digest and visions labyrinthine archives random page detailed entry millimiters paths, ambitions to regain speech. Some
, alternating a little here and a little there. Or anywhere. Outside as well. Outside of basely cruel and sinister. Outside of highly and regularly maintained. The first abandoned jungles shameful to areas outside laws, detention camps. The second high dungeons contemptuous prohibited in sanctuaries in safe heavens. You
doubts of what awaits you if you do not go away.
You keep the fear in you. You've sorted among all those who populated the centuries. You've taken without form, without title, without crime, without hatred. You have chosen cold, young and without reason, like fear of qu'inventent children discovering the unknown, unconscious whether an ally to move in the shadows and the brave threat if it occurs.
And you talk to this already unique loneliness that goes with you. You trust him with your knowledge. And you will make. As day after day you'll learn. Because every day you go again. Want to be. Share, so soon you will you also shared.
We talk to our loneliness. Same as yours. And you wonder, as if she's not gonna crazy.
As if from the beginning, we should never have to leave. How
the question arises it again.
Now that it condemn us that we are alone.
You probably guessed it's that question that gets closer.
Loneliness has nothing to do.
And nobody has disappeared. Except
feel thankfully lighter.
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