Friday, June 08, 2018

R.I.P. M.I.K.O.

"Unusual thing, indeed"  

What an unusual thing 'tis To encounter such a soul there. "There" being the space which through a strange neglect Permeated the soul, That it, in turn, was permeated with dripping raindrops which dripped through because the journey Neglected wetness; Because the journey was undertaken in such a manner That the sound of dripping rain was lost in the music. Music,
being the stage, the wooden panel
on which the predictable frenzy was sweating 
its pathetic hour upon the role,
that entangled with given time,
it created the predictable impermeability
for spontaneity not to penetrate.
being the chemical union of destruction
and salvation, 
that could have composed
all the precipiatation music that was lost in the sounds,
that would have dissolved the resistance to 
a little more interactive time of coexistence,
that is.

P.S. i don't know whom I am missing here. You, me, both? I have to say that on one take I am envying you, for trashing this shit. On another level, I hate you for leaving me in this shit. I cannot come to terms with a lifetime arrangement that does not include your intellect and your intake in it. It is pure shit. Do I want to live in it, without my choice of humans, like you. A very valid question. I will have to decide.
 I will let you know. Not that you will give a shit.

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