I sit on an island, with my legs crossed and look towards the ocean. I can feel the sand that I am sitting on, smooth but dazzling of grains, although make no mistake I was never really comfortable at the beach. The air is warm and sunny yellow. I am looking at myself and try to point my focus to the right direction, and the only one I see fit, begins inside. But the wind is blowing smoothly around me giving me lots of fresh breaths.
I have my generations that stand behind and above me, to the side and at a distance, and I know they remain solid because their existence makes me warmer than the sun. Then me, who is trying to extend by making something that can be touched and visualized.
So, I run in order to grow new arms that I can use to run even further with.
At what speed does all the information accumulate, connect and change position while an apparently changing surrounding seems static? There are too many possible outcomes that cannot be predicted, so we give the complex a name. Meanwhile, I have to carry the cloud of life in my arms because it is mine. It has an air of mist, transparent puffiness like grey marshmallows. Yes, that is my life. Like a big, grey, transparent marshmallow that is devoid of crystal structure.
Oh, oH.
I have to make sure it doesn’t shrink. If I turn my head and point my eyes towards me, maybe I get a better look at what I am supposed to do? My eyes are brown, my hair is dark long and my body lean, thin and flexible not to mention soft and bendable. I have to accept the fact that the waves I am made of are just enclosed within a barrier in order to function due to this inadequate protrusion of a circulating universe.
Well, I would really like to see what it looks like in the world next to me, let’s say in the 8th dimension. I cannot understand how the origin of protein translation, let alone the determination of creating a complex system encoded by some acidic-dependent environment, crossed the space of time and determined to position it’s model at the right distance? Who decided carbons were to become acidic? Try to make something out of the fractions of knowledge (pftfttt?!) I succeeded to sponge so far. I think it is not enough, because it is NOT ENOUGH.
Trying to compact as much as I can into my tiny space, is not even relevant; it creates a lot of electrical activity in me right now. I need to rest for a while.
I can feel the rhythm now.
Donk a donk a konk a konk la leh al a….