Look inside your guts. Shapes are hidden in their meanderings: faces of people yet to meet and long gone friends. Our internal horoscope speaks in its sleep: the bull, the bear, Versailles, the little farewell, the stone in the mouth, the sensation that gives a name to any other sensation.
Excursus: the stone in the mouth. Perseverance furthers. The eager lover spoils what keeps him alive. Affection must follow unruled diets: to keep without holding, to hold without keeping. Image: a fat chick crossing a spring creek.
We zoom out to sync vision with perception. Boiling feelings and chilling omens. Life as rich puddles connected by our efforts. Some like it hot, some feel the current, others spend their life in an ice block. Analyzing life is easier when you expect others to consider yours. Puddles are connected by vanishing lines, crawling lifes to build life.
I am beginning to enjoy rap. Some people never age, they keep liking what the youngs like. Slipping from puddle to puddle into the same one, wasting time in a soul hydromassage. I enjoy it more when it's bad, and I mean the rap. Can't really believe when rappers insult third parties: blame is first a warning to ourselves. What not to do in capital letters. The worst the rap, the cleaner the links, the more geometrical the pattern, the more I can empathize with this people. I see them failing my very same way: we're partner in lameness.
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