No Courage to Post-Create World only by Writing an Unsent Epistle
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"I have no courage to amuse myself with some wet colours; I cannot erect new paintings, signs of tiredness... Deep swimming into this mute fountain, I must search a way of salvation, a road to life. The dreams are too strange for you and too shallow for me, the snakes are too green, sitting in my scented ears, I need other subterranean fantasy!
Rescue me, you are notifying me...
How many points must be united in order to wake me, again? I think I'm the geometry's god, without circles and squares, like a limp master, too easy to be pleased. I have not new jokes, different machines instead of real feelings; I'm busy with my leafy mistakes. So, I must understand: I'm blind, deployed by your robots, hidden by fields of writings, without any battles or failures? Motionless, floating in a pool of dark ink, I'm waiting a new goal to enter my soul, to penetrate this internal door. I am here, in your veins, filling in your secret holes!
I have no courage to continue this course, bizarre e-motion, to manage your mechanisms of self-destruction; I cannot play this song, because I'm not able to hear you, to feel the pixels' breath.
Go, go, and go! How to save these rhythms, where to put other cries? The learning is too hard for me and too easy for you, our words are just signs of madness, broadcasts of neglected ideas. I'm preparing another circus, a cold show made of puppets (wood and water): it is another fear, black mask of time...
My letter to you denotes some lack of inspiration, I know, but it's not important, you deny all I send you, you reject all of my measurements, clocks' thickness, shrinks' mazes; my hands are equal with your heart beating in vain... I have no courage to lock your sleep, to give you another concrete bag of drugs, to tear down your virtual walls; I cannot act like a far-away lover.
Hate me, once again, you plead guilty to me... The pages are too huge for you, this hospital is too populated for me! I must exit now, I'm leaving you here, on this table, sharp symbol of brilliant and aseptic decadence, I need other successful daydream!
I have no courage to see the blank ocean of unsafe minutes of forbidden pleasure, to gain a red liberty, to reason about showy errors and unplugged dwarfs. You're still in me, holding my statements, speaking toward my so-called dumb friends, you're in my rooms, full of electricity, I must kill you, I need more space for me!
Stop, please stop. I have not new blades, no axes, and no cups of poison, any guns or peeks of remorse... My engines tell me I should action, to forget you, to cut you into little children, to offer you another fractal-like death! Is this a long obsession? Is this an automatic vice? I'm too absent for right responses, I want my toxic toys to walk on by... Good bye to you, good courageous life for me!"
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