The Man Sucking on a Lemon

Yesterday the news came. And today I am still unknown, a mystery ready to vanish in thin air. For we are real in milliseconds, disintegrating at a slow-motion speed, through time, through space, through some sort of continuum I still hang on. Perhaps there is no real fear to wait for, no real concern to attend, and from then on a spiral of indifference and unforgiveness spread through the land, through the villages, through common places I never recognise. What is there to recognise when the smallest act is just in ruins, when the smallest expectation is simply dead in principle - aren't we all giving up? I hear the music, I hear the banging cutlery, I hear the Valkyrie coming to the rescue, I hear that Yellow Lemon with no perfection gleaming through the eyes of uncertainty, through the comforts of status quo, through the perceptions of neat misunderstanding. And I quote what is not real, as we heard way too much. And I stand up on the top of the hill, on the top of your heads, and I see that Sun embracing the Moon, I see those Stars embracing the Planets... and I wish there is more to see, even when there is nothing to go through, nothing to come through, nothing to bear through these hard times we write and describe for. I know I will still be here waiting for you, for what you make of me will be greater than the Sun and the Moon, greater than the Stars and the Planets, greater than idea and buildings, and I will feel so small, so scared. Curling against this cold wind soon to calm down, I rest my case, I simply rest my case. Did I even start it in the first place? Not sure...What if I want to stay put? What would the problem be? Would I sulk too much? Would I sink too much? I prefer to say my soul, my spirit, they know best as they float in the surrealism and the absurdity we admire and breathe day in day out.

The Group on The Other Side of a Black Fence

I saw you in the pictures. Did you stare at me for no reason? Did you stare for the pleasure of challenging me to a fight to the death? I saw you in slow-motion picking up the pieces, making them swirl and shape, watching through the eyes of a never-ending present, a never-changing moment. If there is envy or jealousy in my words, then what else is left for me to live? If there is digust in what I say, then where would I need to escape? As you turned the clock hands one more time, the faces you used to see have now gone, some of them stayed with blank looks, others are perhaps still here around you, still hear to make a sense. As the cold melts and the wind blows its freezing breath on the last winter days, there is no other way to realise how the page turns even when you think the chapter is closed. I still saw you in pictures with no concern over human property, with no empathy over human connections. I guess everyone fights for their corner, and it might be blissful from your end, as well as theirs, or even mine. You, me, and everyone else, will never see how dirt and dust wrap the external surface of our fence. You, me, and everyone else, will live for what we are limited to see. And perhaps this is what it all comes down to - no escape, no hideout, a simple view to someone's reality.