time is only a crepuscular reflex, all already passed at the end of this night. we walk through it meeting giants, ghosts, old+young men, widows, brothers, but always meeting ourselves.

all around buildings and houses are participating in our silence: knowing their darkness is like depriving of something. so let's give them words and tones, rainbows and seeming bridges between the eternally separated.

sadly we conquered reality and lost dream.

is really the future a boot stamping on a human face, forever?
or rather is a mixture of popular engravings, backdrops paintings for acrobats, old-fashioned literature, recording the inexpressible, capturing moments of vertigo?

blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! devastate the inland empire, leave only soft black stars, ocean songs, five leaves and a pink moon.
save the innocence of dreaming, twilight solitude, the silence of the sea, the sentences of a jean eustache movie, the future memories of la jetée.
do not forget the tales of a pale moon after the rain, the coherence of pier paolo pasolini, monsieur hulot's holidays, fathers, mothers and sons, saved souls passing through zones, where they resist or break.

scream, squeezing every ounce of energy, shout that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration, we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively. there is no such thing as death, life is only a dream and we are the imagination of ourselves.
so, do not forget this and do not forget us.

we, here, are just staying human.