Category Archives: Thoughts
Time is fast and space is slow.
Space is an attempt to place time. Vito Acconci, 1990
/ points of interest
the cloud enters into the house behind the curtain looking for another
in a distance, the fog is coming near pushing the sun further
one could also be further but the thoughts of the other is near
does distance matters or could another be already here
when the cloud enter into the house behind the curtain looking for another.
white socks, searching for shoes
shy swans, dipping into skies
round light, following tonight
siren eyes, running against mine
i, i, cannot but reply
a word is a room searching for doors
the window is the key on the floor
man, who is tall, is hiding in walls
touching the ceiling behind the door
the room is filled with people filling the room but when someone leaves the room, the room is left without any feelings. one is waiting for room.
/ a kind of filling
the neon children running around the clock that is late takes the breathe of the father who is going further into the butter without any signal. between discovery and fantasy, the cup is toppling into the muddle of controversy. the waste, the biological waste, is a close case between the rotten bananas and the tea bags but of course it ends up in same paperbag. finally moving towards the dimension of the blue plane, the missing heart kisses the swirling eyes in wild wine, taking an unexpected leap into the forest to search for a good sponge that could contain the answers for the new door guy. at 4am in the morning, it was not cold.
to move because time moves you to
the moon was cutting lines
how could i face your eyes
beside the rising sun
i wait for later times
when my feelings are leaving me, can i leave them with you
the road is coming back stones will fall asleep again
the window is open closing my eyes
he is close by, his open eyes
to close the window to open my eyes
his close eyes, is closing by
is closing by, is closing by
close my eyes.
the moonlight returns to the house to answer the line but one is not ready to deny that to hear it, is to be blind.
one is outside, the other inside
when the other is outside, one is inside
if we are on the same side, there is no different sides
but if we can be indifferent to our sides,
the inside is outside and outside inside.
i hold on to a cup of tea
drinking the time that passes me.
and when the weather is finished,
it is then, that i will leave
it changes colour and colour changes it
so if its colour is to be going to be changed,
and change changes the colour,
what then, does change change
the wind blows
its getting cold
i close the window
i ask the eye of the mirror that i see, who is this i of the eye i see in this mirror that i see with this eye
the painting in the box wishes to fly but is too afraid to die
the blue hare watches the sky thinking of smoky flies
without reading, a book is colouring and also forgiving
white noodles drying in my eyes, i shall not cry
the heart cycles
into the rain
of picking something
but not berries
nor the creamy
passing those trees
and into your eye
morning stretching night
leaves sigh, opening
pausing dreams inside
this moment crying alive
for who is beside this i
this sight, this life
is slipping me by.