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  • In the beginning there were no balls, only an entanglement of wools. There was no pink, and there was no rose. Some pricks were knitting needles from a hurt heart. A scent of carnation flooded in continuous dreams that I thought I’d like to share.

    There was not a garden, but drones abounded hurting my mouth, trying to steal some honey.

    There was no silence. All the books built blocks of senseless knowledge like bricks that can’t make a bridge stand because the engineer who should plan a building thought the better was a pigeon hole to hide bread crumbs. Creaking of bridges were the elementary sound of existence

    And all the future was forever born sepia.

    When the Universe began, the first atoms were hydrogen, then helium, further lithium. I spent a long time of my early adulthood trying to make the lithium stage finally pump to my head, but as the chaos didn’t dissipate even after all the lithium, I went back to helium and hydrogen. I assumed the chaos to try to concoct what should be the Multiverse.

    Multi-Verse, multiple verses. Verse writings.

    Fiat Lux!!

    What could be the place to arrange the thin borders of sound and thought, the books building squares with wild fruits and walking shadows? Not my physical room, but my virtual Cowbird bedroom.

    Here I can translate some points of my mind room and there’s a mirror. Paradoxically I don’t tell stories and talk and give answers and show love that much I would/could/should. It’s a feeling time, my resting place to enjoy a wide range of expressions silently, watching landscapes and hearing different sounds. I’m able to avoid judgements when I hear screams. I’m allowed to see my obnoxious side. I’m a horseless voyeur in the unending road of Multi-verse.

    I like to have my virtual bedroom where I knit a piece to cover my own lithium-less chaos. A sepia road is something warm. I slip under the sheets of nomadism and say my ambiguous “ciao”. My lax back is never too far.
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