Water is dripping over me, merging with lava rivers, rushing from the deepest layers of mantle. Cooling down, boiling, cooling down again. Heat exchange: hence, trade.
My shower has stopped working, as I contemplate its inefficency with wet eyes in a wet body. Steam emerges from my skin as plasma plumes: I am here to trade. Collecting useless data, trimming inconcistencies, shredding useful information, helping existence in the everlasting task of unfolding itself, by complicating itself.
The bear is shaking its head. Flaying air with its contempt, it turns around to abbandon me once again. A fragile mix of sleep and vision: a daydream, this is what the bear is made of. I try to call it back, carefully winding an imaginary, delicate string, torn by the obviousness of reality. This dream has to keep going, for I am ready for the trade.
The more I focus, the more the bear blurs itself within the shower curtain. David Lynch wrote ideas are like fishes: too bad I'm struggling with a bear. Earlier this morning there was a single cloud in the sky, dripping vapor as it rolled down a wind slope. All I should feel is the trade, the thin bond between bodies and ideas, the curling message due to heat transition that leads straight to the bear's den. All I can feel is time passing and the beneficial effects of warm water leaving my bones.
I realize the bear's looking straight into my eyes: what will I do once I reach it? Bears have claws and sharp teeth and dreams get violent sometimes. I check my magic thread once again: looks like I'm on the wrong side of the hook.
Nessun commento:
Posta un commento