There are dancers here that dance continuously and make fun of my life
being so hopelessly undone still. The dance is always the same though
seems different every instant, cause of life and no interrogation or conclusion.
Life's a playful thing if not knowing you live it. Knowing destroys innocence
and so we create, trying to find that lost place. Imaginary feelings felt
by cold solitude that warms with curiosity and let it be of inside energy.
But too much inside doesn't let it shine. Shine, shine. On demand of the
unknown and all that is known is only platform. Pictures of others and
dreams of others. New, yes something new. Not alone I guess. Mystic
present of unrest to fulfil the next quest or die, die young. Everything
beautiful still though but beauty doesn't know how to act, only dances.
The power to make the negative possible by creative skills. A caterpillar
turns butterfly, yes. For as much as this weights to bring join on others
and then me. Too open and no nest to rest my unrest. Fulfilment need.