A whole eternity lies in the space between unless and until, the life of myriad possibilities depends upon the right choice of words. Was it intentional, she wondered, was there a hint of promise latent in this till that knew no less, or was it purely accidental?

She expected to be let down- wisdom acquired from experience- and so she'd learned to let others down before they got the chance to disappoint her. How passé, to be pure and innocent at this day and age; how difficult, to change back your aura of cynicism into sweet words and trust and good intentions...

From Black Spring by Henry Miller:

"Have you ever sat in a railway station and watched people killing time? Do they not sit a little like crestfallen angels- with their broken arches and their fallen stomachs? Those eternal few minutes in which they are condemned to be alone with themselves- does it not put umbrella ribs in their wings?"

Sometimes I wonder if the whole of normal everyday life, with its pursuit of happiness and all the rest, is nothing but an- intentional or not- attempt to imitate a drug-induced experience. Don't believe what they tell you; all paradises are artificial, and why should it make a difference? While you're asleep, dreams are in no way less real than waking consciousness.

Time wasted is not always wasted time. Last night, I watched you attack invisible enemies again. Do your eyes still look the same when you cry? Trying to stay in control- that's the nature of our game; our passions licked by the flames of the will to power. If love was ever truly unconditional, who would be able to refuse it?

Allow me to whisper your name one last time, then silence. I'll walk away, never to come back or disturb your sleep again. My eyes will remain dry- I've got no more tears in store for you.

It's been a while, I can't even recall what you smell like. Though I'd easily bring down the barriers to let you occupy my mind once more, and wouldn't I sacrifice my sanity for a few moments inside that devastatingly familiar madness you created?

Inspiration in flesh and bone, my desire for you a power that knew no limits, wings made of pain and sorrow- we flew, nonetheless. Goodbye, I tell your fading image, what am I without your impregnable presence, who am I without your subtle touch?

Tonight I might truly weep for the demise of all ideals, the sweet destruction brought about by the fallacy of pathos, in the absence of which life is safe, content and forgettable.

When I was 13, I planned to have the word "freedom" tattooed all over my body in each one of the world's languages . Later on, I realized I was at risk of finding myself symbolically imprisoned within the confines of my own freedom- just like every other supposedly free person on this planet.

Since then, I've come to accept the impossibility of total disengagement, the trap latent in the fantasy of independence, the slavery underlying ambitious declarations of liberty. I play games with my expectations, I live on sunshine and see-through dreams, I waste my energy on obsessions born purely out of an insatiable need for acceptance, I sell my soul in exchange for cheap imitations of attachment, and life goes on, or it seems to go...

A female centaur, her long hair tussled by the wind, stands naked
in a dream. What do centaurs believe in? asks a disembodied voice. Concentration moving further and further out of reach. Effortlessly becoming addicted to whatever distraction is available, carelessly wasting our youth.

Black thoughts, black dreams, black poems springing from polluted minds. A scent of spring and smog fills the air- what a joy, to be a natural born denier on such a beautiful day. Please act as if you 're satisfied so we can finish this show. Disillusionment disguised into fake desire. Words wrapped in cruelty, when all we seek is a sign of tenderness, a hesitant expression of affection.

Pretend you're free, detached and indifferent, then weep in the dark, quietly so as not to wake the warm body sleeping next to you, alien skin barely touching your arm. You'll never know what lies behind the outer shell, because you'll never find the courage to ask. Now you have learned to shed your tears inwardly- now you're transformed into a vessel of flesh that's gradually filled up with salty water and diluted memories.