Where is the end ? A Strident Taking Symphonies of The consequence Forcing our wishes
concert
of
truths. and obnoxious. the space. that doesn’t seam to fade. mortality hindering our selves to be. carnation for the touch that longs to be with.
all words of our to become
There is no dialectic in the making of this moment. Dynamical powers performing the violence contained in our cells cowardly fleeing Life. Sex becoming a possible end to our fights. Our bodies disclaiming no longer belonging to the conflicts we take. While shredding our needs into tears, pieces of abysses that separate the definitions of our territories. Melting to become sea Our bodies, cartographies of a present in the making. Unfinished, yet polluted from all of those who have past before us. Bombarded, amputated and wounded agonizing in this already climatic change with no more time to bare with the already beings. While we discover our closeness, our bodies debone from the material world to disappear in their sorrows. How to imagine how we were if we are no longer there? How to imagine how we were if we were never there? To From as from
avoid where we
the no
the
noise, our longer landmark but we possible carnage
bodies forget as become of
become oceans. we become wide, free our feelings.
And we fall , in the ends . where we no longer feel all becomes time