The Walker - thinking about potatos

 Well, while walking through this potato town, I’m thinking that you may think that they think I might be thinking about you. This is, when one starts proclaiming things like this, one must be careful to not lose the coat... But my cynicism, apparently, is shallow, because actually, I believe that the system is perfect and so, there are no flaws. All actions are perfect and if God is macabre, we should be the cubic root of that desire. Whether by acts, or by words or by advertising symbols. Therefore, the crisis exists because man can not live only from dreams, we must have some truth... And yes, we may need the delirious in order to transcend the duality of things, but also, I advise you, do not stay too much time in the middle ground, coz that may bring you some misunderstandings, this is, you may end up being bait for moss-troopers, and moss-troopers may kidnap your soul and take it to the courthouse in order to exploit all your suppressed feelings. So, at some point you may say, “sometimes I feel so full of all this shit”, and I know, you have escaped so many times. So, now, escaping again, but to where? Some say that everywhere is the same and that is kinda true, but not totally. In fact, people create problems in order to entertain themselves with the operations of solving those same problems. Well, my problem, your problem, I noticed, is to put the feet by the hands when it comes to selling the fish. And you may say “The world has just become a huge open-air wasteland filled with burnt sand, shards and enigmatic worms…” And others may say “The hearts of the world are becoming shaggy, atrophied by the lunar impatience and eagerness for protagonism”. So yes, we are all ejaculating anachronistic fluids in various directions and time-zones. Fluids that can corrupt both the sacred will of the understanding and the very bones of the office... but it will be nothing... relax... as you sing they may dance... we may continue with this little theater... no need to force it, coz, the built-in radiant radiator of this conversation will care about absorbing only the necessary for the potentialization of our fortune and  love. Well, yeah, I'm starting to get a bit fed up with monologues so, now I try to approach some of these people on the streets, people like you, and so, I try to get into some conversations. Thus, I begin by asking things like "who you are"; "Where are you from"; "where are you going"; "what brings you here," And so, the answers I get are ambiguous enough, some even obtuse, but others more mundane. The thing is. We all distrust everyone. Brotherhood is just pretension. We all distrust everything. All atrophied by the idea of having a future to achieve. All bogged down in a blue virtual world, walking the dogs around the lake, eating narcotic goldies on the way.  This is, all suffering from a hypothetical crisis. And the mountain that already gave birth to I don't know how many mice and rats, I don’t know for how long it will last more. Therefore, what lies beyond thar genetic tree, what lies beyond this synthetic body, what lies beyond this avenue, what lies on the back of this toponymy, it’s just an equidistant sky full of fearful mathematical equations, full of promiscuous radiation… and so, here I go now jumping into this avenue with all these machines standing in a row with their engines bumping out, and you are here too, inside one of this machines, looking at nothing, and so, here I am, outside, with a bucket and a rag in my hand, I’m coming to clean your windscreen, this is, I’m coming to delete your meaning, or, I’m coming to sniff your petrol, even if you don't want it. So, now think about all these trees that grow old and drop their foliage and fruit on abandoned benches, think about the souls that drift about in search of someone that could massage their ankles. Close your eyes, my lady, my boy, and soon you will see the panic turning into mint... We are the matter, and this ventricle is almost like an atomic bomb doomed to give and receive… and so, and these benedictine synthetic flowers that shade the unprecedented intelligence of the bewildered epicurean are now becoming blurry… this is, it isn’t important how many mountains you've already conquered or how many inhospitable valleys you've already crossed… no matter how many bitches you've already trapped or how many mosquitoes you've already idolized… the purple light is always here, has always been, absorbing the meaning of everything, that is, the universe is never satisfied… Everyday we see people eating mandalas in the morning, people playing with their machinery after lunch, people investing their lives in probability games in order to keep the flame of seduction and despair alive… And so, here we are again, with our duties and rights, and at this point, tired of everything, you may say that words are just a bunch of abstract non-sense… and grammatic is nothing more than a nest where spiteful rattle snakes give birth to an extent number of poisonous toads… toads that are already falling over thorny cliffs, their mucus spilling through the rocks of abstention, and those first few seconds of rational decentralization in which a person still does not know who is what or what is who, are now gone. And so, at this moment, I no longer want this conversation about the abyss, so, let’s leave. Yeah, leaving now. And thus, as I get off the bus, I’m already picking up a ragged newspaper from an empty seat and there I go, still thinking about potatoes.