"This place is curious, this place is a non place. It’s not located in some secret corner of the soul, since there are no secrets; it’s actually devouring the entire inside, projecting itself on the outside… gaining substance, encouraging stings, thirst and hunger all around."
- Natura Principia
it is, look at it for crying out loud… crisped from extreme cold leaf on a
naked tree in the middle of a long winter night, a vain promise of white within
white cover. I might easily succumb into nostalgia and spend the rest of the
better part of an hour staring at that lonely sad sight without blinking,
occupying my mind with melancholia coherent only with this frozen winter breath
coming out of my mouth. But there’s no snow in sight, and I’m not going to
doubt for a minute to stay here, of course…
my fraudulent winter walk, I’m going to use these long legs to position myself
somewhere warmer, out of sight and everywhere at the same time. The only
functioning melancholia I have at the moment is the dystopia in my mind, this
desired state of kink I’m living constantly, the only prescription for the mind
contagion I’m so comfortably accustomed to enjoy. There’s no escape from here,
and I have things to say.
I do what I must do, and I do it in a convenient manner. Restlessly I make my
moves across this board of life, hoping that this game is never going to
change, never going to end; I don’t need to win or lose, I don’t have desired
outcome sculpted from expectations and disappointments, I just need to be in
the middle of the game. This loud beat is my track, and I'm that dancer... so, I dance!