Monday, November 10, 2008

Mercury Drug Metathione Price

Add

Add. Add to vertigo. Write without stopping. On everything. And anything. any last second, like a drop of water falling from a faucet. Write. The smallest blade of grass, the smallest smile, an idea sketched dropped, the wind a little cold scary, the vast plain to my feet like I was a giant, as if I myself still and serene mountains, eternal. Add reliefs where the light stops, where the shadows hung, mysterious, disturbing and savage. Add the sun beating down on my back, shy and yet so present, as if a magnifying glass focusing its rays right there in the palm of my kidneys. Toc toc.
Enter. Enter the sun, wind, mountains and the sea enter the elements, just type the words and dance. Step into my world that will transform you and will eat, your infinite as your limits, your whispers as your howling like your silence, your full and your untied, your densities as your nothingness, your round as your immobility. Everything that makes you something other than symbols drawn in blue ink and that humans are coded for eternity. Another thing that sticks helpful. Something other than chicken scratch. Something of the exchange, linking, transmission. Something subtle and difficult to decipher and so human.
Add dizzying yes, write and nothing else, just set foot on the ground or not, just swallowed the first sip of coffee or no, write and drop everything and get carried away. No food, no talking, not moving. Become a single wire energy writing and leave the pen, held by the plumb line in his righteousness, pursuing its course forever. Be nothing other than this continuous thread, the blue ribbon dancing before my eyes. Forgetting to eat and drink and think. To have no body, no organ, no conscience, just write a thread that is wound and unwound and travels the roads, and explores, discovers, and in going around the world we back the measure.
Just once, do this experience there. Get up and write. Just write. As if nothing else existed, had never existed and never will, for all eternity. Write without thinking, without stopping. As he who, having finally chosen a path, leaving the intersection, make haste without casting a glance back, without regret for the prison in which, until then he turned round. Add to escape. Add to cope. Write for, after measuring the world, to slide along the plumb line and descend deeper. Add to touch the heart.

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