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Thought_1Let's say that a blind man sat down in front the public piano and has started to play the tone of the day. There are a lot people around him, going about their business, not paying any attention to the blind man's music. Not even a single tone. Too busy with their lives. Nevertheless, the blind man continues to play his beautifully assembled notes until his fingers start to numb, and they start to ache.
At that day, if another passing by man decides to momentarily pause whatever he is doing only to listen to the blind man's music for a second or two; and if a woman, across from the man does the same, and if the two of their eyes somehow, someway meet, then something beautiful might start to happen.
No matter how blind the blind man is, as he continues to hit the piano keys with his almost numb fingers, he will somehow ''see'' the man and the woman's pleasant greeting, and then he will smile quietly to himself before getting up from his seat to go home.
When he will go
"I dreamed I was a butterfly and did not know whether I was dreaming I was a
butterfly or a butterfly dreaming it was me."
Book of Chang-Tzu
There once was a Cliffhanger who was hanging for such a long time that he forgot time itself. He lost count of days, months, years, everything. He had no idea how long he had been like that. He would just hang there. No one knew exactly what happened that caused him to be in that situation, no one knew anything. They just knew that he was simply hanging and nothing more. He was hanging for so long that he became delusional and had many dreams. He had dreams where he was with his loved ones, the ones who really mattered to him the most. He had dreams where he was left angry and restless. He had dreams where was all by himself, alone somewhere. He had dreams where he was busy with things. The notion of being a cliffhanger did not upset this fellow, rather what did, what really upset him were his dreams. He could not figure out the duration of each o
may as well buy another packcollapse, and breathe into the carpet:
sunday mornings are not
for falling apart, but damn
the amphorics, this
is not an atmosphere.
you fell in love like you always
wish you didn't, made all their
smiles replaceable, interchangeable,
fell asleep with shadows and kept
drinking, just letting yourself sleep
with blue pills
and tried not to scream.
(keep this image in your head:
fire and nectarines, a sudden jerk
of realization, inspiration
breaking your neck and leaving you forever
breaking bones is not so different
from breaking hearts - it's all about
the leverage, the angle, the mode
(and at least it wasn't personal;
it can color in your own guilt
for starting lines and never ending
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