Exercise in surrealism No 1064

When the heart of the city burns again and the children lash out at each other with insatiable rage, bury your dead deep, for violence is an old beast that only pretends to sleep. I saw the man with the tattered hat, I heard the fireworks, I was forced to choose between wisdom and oblivion - the dilemma left me paralyzed.

Blindly we followed the screaming crowd. On most nights, we dared not sleep, and when we did our dreams tasted like rusted iron. Some said the end was coming, others said it had just began. We prayed for rain to wash our sins away, and when the rain came, we retreated back into our caves- by now, sins had become our second skin and we refused to peel them.

The prophets withered and died, the visionaries lost their touch with sanity, the innocent were slaughtered and onwards we moved, laughing like mad. In the darkness, we devoured each other with hatred and lust; under the merciless sun we οnly walked in silence.

First our clothes began to fade, then our kisses lost their taste; in the end, we forgot all the names we knew- the names of our friends, the names of our enemies, even our own. Perhaps we never reached our destination, perhaps we did, and marched through it all the same...

Of fear and longing: Chapter 647

Am I truly content to live with the thought that one day I will only be a sub-folder in your folder of memorable moments? This is always a possibility, perhaps even a certainty, yet it becomes too hard to swallow when you're not even allowed to hope for a miracle.

Last night, I tried to get you out of my mind by employing the only reliable removal procedure I know of. I must confess it failed spectacularly.I guess I'm losing my outstanding ability to go with the flow. At the same time, I am becoming more myself than I've ever been. All the masks and guises and armor are gradually falling to pieces. Perhaps my perpetual wrong choices have already doomed me to decades of loneliness. Still, I find it impossible to let rational thought reign over my feelings.

What really hurts, you know, more even than the awareness of an inevitable ending, are the silences, the words never uttered...and time is running out. You asked me to let go, but you're the one who couldn't- or chose not to-, and most of the barriers I have stumbled upon, whilst struggling to reach you, were not the work of my own hands.

Fragments of life on the outskirts of reality

She walks alone at night; she does not need protection- not the kind they'd offer her, anyway. When she gets home, she longs to share a thought or two with a certain someone, but her pride only allows her to use telepathy as a means of communication.

She is hungry for love but, in its absence, she can get by on lust alone. She likes the feeling of a warm body lying next to her, but will only fall asleep on her side of the bed.

In some dreams, she weeps bitter tears, wishing she was stronger. In other dreams, she laughs like mad, wishing she was weaker. Yet on most nights she is blessed with a dreamless sleep...