For he'd hear dim dissonances and roars coming from the cries of cities burning down in the ancient memories he cherished so, he could claim the lazy church did not dare to wake up any one in the area. Midnight is here and the minority of the collective consciousness is already in bed. 1 AM and a few more disappear ungracefully. 2 AM and yet you can still hear the drunken prodigious souls going home to their family or pets and solitudes which in many ways they have tried to forget while reading their fate in the bottom a wine glass and numerous tequila shots.
"What a mistake this is! Let the world know that the night tells the naked truth and that the day merely helped us to realize that we exhale dirt and that plants feed on it to intoxicate our exhausted brains from the stolen astral light we entrapped in bulbs and lamps and hidden smiles screaming EURÊKA with guilt and irony wondering if someone somehow knew this too at the very same instant."
He got it ! To please his soul and believe in no coincidences, he chose to unmask his own language, to twist it and to cut it in pieces and spray them damn meaningless pieces turned into dust, blowing on open palms up towards the starry ceilings and reflexions he dreams of himself. Let him write but make him shut his mouth.
"Set your teeth free and run on tiptoe like a half-goat half-man holy abandoned orphan/creature they say that hates us all. Let the animal go wild and shove its claws in their chest with words that touch them deep until their nerves ache at their very root called the spine itself the very root of balance that traces back the miracle of the DNA discovery -- the head, the body and the tail and the endless question of origins and creation. Oh set it free! Please! I pray to the silent echoes of the mute church bells!"
He'd rip off his eyeballs but he could only dream of such a pathetic act he'd heard or read somewhere... That is not his own will he feels but the sympathy for the tortured spirits the Earth carries on her many faces. And yet... "When does it start and when does it stop ?"
All of it. It's in his head. Nothing's real but his thoughts that won't ever materialize in day light keeps making his heart beat joyfully paradoxically taking him by the hand from the inside out in a surreal hallucination of ecstasy.
"It's time to stop fighting the obvious... We can't help but think of freezing time and act like starved baby foeti by doing the opposite of trying our best to make it actually the priority of our deepest and dreadful goal in life... to catch a glimpse of memory and make it be a trace, a desperate written line in the subjective and hypocritical book of History."