and see the values going down…

it could easily be referred to as “reboot” for all I kn… feel.

the endless cycle of “it’s now!” every day

like a wooden spoon with a boiled egg on it, wondering what the fuck is going on and why is it inside someone’s mouth.

i want to play on a roman numbered hopscotch.

all the games that exist are by and for adult audiences. Only after - The enlightenment era? - did they infantilise concepts and rebranded them for kids.

games people play… and - just my luck! - I end up being a player myself. Though one that tries to stay on the bench, exaggerating my expression of malaise, until an eventual last resort that’ll force me to stand up. It’s much better watching from afar. If you have your bubble world that is…

the sea garden. It’s gated. I can never see what is behind those fences as if the earth erupted in a perfect oval shape to create a high plateau that reaches the clouds. There is a house. There is grass - luscious, bright green, soft - never pokey! As the grass fades at a line crossing the centre horizontally, white sand starts to shift the sensation of the short walk, ending in a turquoise and clear-as-glass body of water with waves that are no more than a caress. That’s my address. At night, its outstanding height allows me to observe the stars and meteors, the satellites and conversations that hang up there, the human connection in invisible wavelengths, the planets and their moons, the milky way and - hopefully - northern lights.

all of it. For us.

it seems we came from there only to meet down here and go back. I have one piece of paper and you have another - it has old scribbles and I must remember to try and glue them together for I believe it’s where we’ll find the address.

and when we’re finally free, we will get up and go. Without notice, preparation or hesitation - how lucky to be where we belong…

as of now, I wonder and search for the best camouflage. A DIY external-reading belonging. Like a piece of a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit but you’ve been on it for weeks so you just make it fit with a stomp with a fist.

hardcore fake belong.

when it’s easy and comfortable, when there’s nothing else around, that’s it. Or they are it. Where we/you belong.

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i forgot - I have a tub of icecream! have to run, cya!