Restoration in dreams

Slowly he was losing his strength, he felt drained as if he had absorbed almost everything. Satiety which brought thoughts of fulfillment, not a single urge of consumerism left, total absence of greed. He had a story to tell, but no wish to interlace any word constructs. The inner storm of endless thoughts is passing by, in his condition of the psyche to endure the mind. He delayed the delay, starting to think of comfort.

His longing for thoughtless state had prevailed, thus opening a significant new meaning of the concept for nothingness. Rest... weakness had submitted the account to his muscles, hence expelling all thoughts from his head. Everything started to become blank, and his breath became ever so sweet. All bones were aching softly, and his muscles were soothing the dance. Unable to resist this seductive impulse, the comfort had bribed all his senses, and his body has already become a slave to all the beauties of the passing day.

He bowed down and succumbed to the embrace of the armchair which was offering a delightful haven to his fatigue, only to sail in his weights and submerge deep in his feelings. Just to feel and think of nothing, such an innocent condition, almost a forgotten blessing of his upbringing. Helpless from exhaustion he had done just that, he relaxed in the comfort of the shape of that artificial embrace which conquered him. Not thinking of its dreamlike origin which laid buried somewhere in the depths of his consciousnesses, only to let himself glide, like a finger on a young skin.

And in comes sleep, dreams like cinema.

To dream… it means to be alive, to be free.

Information tsunami

I read, think and speak for years by now. I have excess experience with friends, children, girls, boys, parents, people, students. Exchange of spoken words which become actions and start to move things altogether, all around. Vocal speech, body speech, brainstorming, mind melt, soul stutter; I observe and closely pay attention, I look at people and within them, so that I can understand them more clearly, eager to discover more.

Ideas which gain form, days and nights in an everlasting niche presented through people. And above all, plenty of voices to be heard, they come from the inside. A liquid process of spontaneity composing events with interesting dynamic, one that never leaves you bored.

It’s never quiet, at times I’m jealous of silence, for it can be kind as well, silence is also a form of communication. To be stranded on an ancient ruin somewhere faraway, surrounded only by endless view of a clear day and blue sea.

Actually, this is not my cup of tea, it wouldn’t work for me.

At times, I’m asking myself how it would look to have an empty head with not a single thought in it, origins of peaceful void.

From this imaginary tranquility of this restlessness I’ve come to enjoy so much I comfort myself with a smile on the face… I’m truly blessed to live this life.

The last of its kind

Right now, time didn’t matter at all, he was living outside of it, time was merely a consequence of himself. Traveling from one end of the galaxy to the other, through the depths of the chilling darkness, he was searching desperately for someone, eagerly trying to find anyone like him.

He found himself at the birth of a new eon, he could name it anyway he wanted, since he was the last of his kind. He became harbor of history. He desperately moved from one world to another through veils of mist of the past lost in a long forgotten memory, a mystery claimed by no one. The thought of all these ancient worlds was hidden in a tear somewhere, a melancholic drive for an ancient nostalgia. He saw that all these spaces which once belonged to his race remain just a void now. Humans are not what they once were, they’re no longer anywhere to be found. Never finding the wisdom within him to realize whether this is a good thing or a bad one… it could be both, symbiosis hidden somewhere in some elusive heavenly values.

This entropic barrier which is moving time in a single direction was useless for him, because in the essence of his humanity lied the chaos of mixing tenses. The future was entangled with the past, and his present felt like a resentment with a feeling of nostalgia left behind… a nostalgia for the oblivion and all the first beginnings.

The nature of his thought became wicked in madness, it was twisted from a distant cry, a faraway calling. This calling echoed a presence buried deep inside every strain of amino acids in his blood. In this state of awkward enslavement of oneself, he remembered a youth before he started to conquer his dreams. Then there were hopes, ideals, emotions, other people. Now, for the first time in his ancient life he was denied of everything, and this became a cause for spiritual exile which lied in the foundation of his curse. His hollow shell was void of humanity, filled on the edges only with hungry demons. His fear was woven in pain, and bred in sorrows and empty despair. His breath was heavy, old from exhaustion.

And he stood there across the abyss of all human fears and sufferings.

With a pride of a solitary sole, he found out that he was condemned to his marrow, awaken from nightmare just to enter another.