Lumière a girl in jeans, look at the light. Where do you place your hands?

He asked if I had gone any further. How far do you want me to go? What do you think I should find? Is it something particular?
I try to measure every word and I realize it is not enough, because then I am not me, but trying to please someone else.

Precious things

Speed of change, speed of time, there is a time capsule in change, my time in every moment. I have no time. Waiting it to happen, saying, phrasing what it is one wants to change. Framing to tell we have no other alternative. It is settling and alarming at the same time, maybe an effort to find crystallised, a meaning and explanation of what happens, what might happen and why. Timing, what happens with timing, in time, in waiting, in lining up, in hurry, in speed which media and civilization bring to our lives. Speed of pictures, speed of events, speed of a runner, speed of a shutter, speed of changing clothes. Speeding, measuring, comparing, working, staying put.

Puta madre conceptual garden sub specie aeternitatis, where every deed happens.

Truth is a bitch.  Say the truth and you will be smacked around.
out-of-place, naturally dislocated
Nymphaea looked for her earring on living room floor carpet. She said she has bad eyes. Great Horned Owl in her, in her bra was tightly pressured against her skin. Wanted to study her pressure marks, sunken bloodless steps on her, leaps of red. I thought it must have hurt to wear such bra. To wear underwear she did shaping her form. She always had a nightgown for me with a cartoon figure. I loved her furniture. She hung her jewelry on corners of her dressing table with oval shape mirror. Smelling her bottles. Her sheets, her plastic pearls, her things, her and valuables, details, piles of magazines. Hers, language of her. I looked for it through her hanging clothes sitting on the floor. I poured everything that was in the box on the floor.
 
language of clichés
language of beauty
language of trauma
language of banality
language of architecture
language of aggression
language of being a child
language of being alive
language of acting out
language of close
language of an old woman
language of dust
language of turquoise 

I had a thought, couple of words. It was perfect couple of words.

and now and now and now and now and now and now and now and now and now and now and now and now and now and now and now and now and now and now and then I started to feel anxious and I said I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry to explain what this is, I probably should, it is when you repeat a couple of words multiple times out loud they begin to sound something else and you see the letters in your mind and begin to wonder what do they mean and what does it actually mean when I repeat what I just repeated

Is he just playing or what is he doing? Why do you want to play with me? I am not a toy. 

Is he just playing or what is he doing? Why do you want to play with me? I am not a toy. 

breathe, in order to have faith to this interrogation of present of delinquency

Fear guides me, that is what I trust. Battle that cannot be won, but it has to be fought. Deliberate subversion unraveled with such speed. Enraged, cloudy, earthly, muddy, dark, behind and under, in
experiencing historical ontology of me, of ourselves, of that other I see and don’t, verifying existence via cruelty, inner must of terror which drives me. Fear that keeps me going. Abomination, afraid when

afraid always, keeping me alert, a pulled string, pulling

ReificationQ Xhyperreality

Oh there is so much I don’t know. Tame landscape making all places alike.
Disposition
Infinitude and a day
speculations on eternity and nothing
a frozen girl at one corner of a busy street. There is never enough one can do.

My heart was as if someone was pounding the front door. I checked.
There was no one there but a bloody dog.

the trigger wire for the bomb that had exploded earlier in the day a place like N

Many of the men who disappeared recited verses, sand on and under, in and all over,
They never saw them again, they never heard of them again, no need to find hidden meanings in there

Of course some knew what was happening, 

It was as if the men had vanished. blown away. it is like some people are more valuable than others. Who is to decide? Whose task it is to know?

they searched for,
had been searching for the DHM,
deep hidden meaning, to look for

fingerprints of the men with explosives
bullet-riddled body
demolished
the orchard’s walls,
the trigger wire for the bomb that had exploded earlier


here the shooting of a child is unremarkable for everyone
here brain stains on the wall is normal
decaying body, human jaw on the ground 

after America’s 13-year war in Afghanistan officially comes to an end.

http://www.rollingstone.com/feature/a-team-killings-afghanistan-special-forces#ixzz2juNTE6jx

billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion71.6 billion