More bits, more pieces. Absorb all the noise you can when you turn the switches on and off the clinking of glasses when the chains of the swing move back and forth when the clock ticks the sound of rain drops beating down I write I dream but don't sleep yet I keep waking up I want to fall asleep without actually falling asleep the chair is empty the posters have fallen down not taken down they were immobile for so long now they move the wall paint has faded the phone refuses to get charged and the fan has decided to spin slower than before. the adamant door doesn't close the cupboards are wide open just like my eyes my fingers hit the keyboard but words aren't born just erased. deleted. the screen stares back at me as I wink the milk tastes so sad with a sad- flavoured slice of bread cheese wants to stay away...
Real and imaginary - art by Luro I was transported to another world to another realm days don't preceed nights here I was there but not fully "there" a piece of me was here but the remaining pieces were elsewhere travelling through the metaphysical space I knew about what "otherworldliness" meant but it sounded too good to be true, or too bad to be false I couldn't decide so I didn't take sides didn't want to. incoherent mutterings tickling my ears My body— still but not all that still Between freezing and melting into nightmares into dreams abounding with hallucinations ethereal but not so ethereal stages of sleep paralysis my supine self was going through shuddering and shuddering involuntary movements had a hold on me I wasn't sure which world I was in the real or the unreal It was hard to differentiate no sense of time or space no sense of "self"...
This city - art by Luro this city counts its nights spent in rejoicing and turns back the clock, to the glory days old but brand new triumph the ancient yet modern way of crying without tears to get a dose of sleep you'd do anything to get it even kill if you have to automobiles and their glaring headlights wet, black, shiny asphalt roads pavements buying solitude like groceries long for people who would care to stop by nobody receives hand-written letters anymore no stamps to paste on envelopes no more mail boxes in every nook and corner of the street the art of waiting patiently is over connections with friends and strangers seems the same four- hour heart to heart conversations are reduced to winks and nods or hand gestures when you cross paths unwillingly. what a shame! we're too busy so caught up that we can't see beyond...
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