slowly exhiting dusty vehicle one evening i encountered above me a universe of purple. shimmering against the neon lights and the night sky [they] formed dizzy shapes over my dreary head... and well, you begin to live again i suppose. amongst creases of time reappearing like forgotten postcards and yellowing letters. like paper, is this life...
et moi un petit bateau de carte aussi. and sometimes cutouts of others present themselves again and again carrying the world on their shoulders, in its blueness seen from space. j'amerais regarder le monde depuis la lune.
cut the present off at the seams, says the lord of the postmodern. but where are the seams? do you stop the earth from rolling around on itself? where is the present? metaphysics aside, where is the present? ou est le present? dov'e' il presente? dov'e' il tuo presente? perche' il mio l'ho perso.