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Sunday, May 28, 2017

May: another month, green, hot, flowers





                    -again it doesn't  matter who i am, what i feel, think and say-all indifferent
                           

                                                so one day i'll fly away-
                                                not so far now...



                       separation in life and living
                       means separation,
                       i love the richness of life too much,
                       scent, flowers, trees and rivers
                       and this love is sensual-
                       too much is lost in discussion
                       and denial and in looking away-
                       it is enough to be old,
                       why have it always in mind
                       and be dead before it is time?
                       i have died many times,
                       i have been born many times.
                       i don't know what else to feel
                       anymore, i cannot approach it,
                       here i am in a thick coat of armour
                       finding what i don't like so i don't wish
                       what i cannot do.
                       i needed my appetite lost...
                       a love which is not connected
                       to me is no love, to me
                       including my sensual presence-
                       a love per se does not exist:
                       it is a fake, an invention,
                       an esoteric and moralist if
                       not even puritan construct.
                       reality is not rigid.
                       even water runs...
                       i run already too far.
                       i live, i don't exist.                  
                     




          as this is about helplessness and a silence and stillness
          where nobody is welcome and where hope drowns in
          the sand of inner deserts, a sand which muffles the other's voice,
          and as this is about joy shared and about vulnerability and truth,
          emotional honesty given and non-given:
          it means nothing here. just a diary note.
       

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