amante et amant

yes. woke up remembering dreaming of you discussing law and literature. it was a grey day, we were on a grey couch, and i had my legs on your lap and the head on the arm rest. you are real, and you have rarely entered my dreams; you have entered me and my reality, not the dreams.

i was wondering if this was a wake up call. wake up to reality, it is better than the dreams!

i have to conclude that reality is far better. the dreams are the leftovers from the slavery to the present. dreams find no place in the unfurling of the universe and get caught in the imaginary world of the virtual delusions.

it occurs to me that you do not know, and that you do not care, and that it does not matter that there is another one.

not a dream

i have not been dreaming. reality is as the dream seems. language. you spoke of Napoli, i listened. i listened. i listened!

you make me think of laying in my death bed holding your hand. i want to die holding your hand. this is not a dream, but i forget. when i forget, i think it is a dream. not a dream.

human

from one despair to the next, we joke and laugh. we pretend and we hide, and at the end of the day there aren't even the ashes to prove anything at all. despair, drama, competition and the naked truth of being totally insignificant. humans are an energetic saddle point at the mercy of another manifold of glorious fluctuating information. one is the reality, the other is the illusion. life is illusion pure, and human is the comedy of the despair. the reality and the truth are twins, and the twins are whores. in the illusion of life, it is good to know how to dance with the real whores.

the universe forgets, and humans die. i like this universe of ours that is forgetful and vibrant. we thought that it then meant something, and then it was not even smoke, nor air, nor ether. it was nothing at all, and i loved the whole of that nothing.

when the sun rises, and once more we face another day after the laughter has died down, the sleep has smoothed out the emotional excitation and the cognitive wildfires, then there is another blossom and a whisper of that breeze that reminds me that on occasions i forget the whole of the universe. we forget, the universe and i.