Thursday, April 28, 2005
''why do you hate haiku poems?''
''why do you hate haiku poems?''
Do you know those days when everything seems to have a ghost image? when nothing is real? when you wake up feeling like you have just fallen asleep, and started dreaming? when you see the same face on different people, every corner you pass?
''Beats seeing different faces on everyone.''
'Everything is a copy of a copy, of a copy...' Insomniac days. Just hate those days... hate mondays... everything is out of focus. Blurry. Melting like a water painting in the rain....
''yeah. but why do you hate haiku poems?''
Days you spend missing someone you haven't even met?
Maybe you have already met that person. Maybe you just need do understand youself. Maybe you just need to meet yourself.
Sad, grey, boring, depressive days, spent looking for a purpose you know you are never going to find. That purpose doesn't exist. and even if it did, you would't want to live your live according to it. Nothing is more stupid than the high hoped chase of perfection.
Maybe you already found the purpose you're missing. Maybe it passes before your eyes every fucking day. finding it is a matter of sonner or latter. But it's better not too late.
Days when all the little arteries in your eyes can be seen from a distance?
Days when... ''well screw you. If you don't want to tell me, just say so''.
Do you know those days when everything seems to have a ghost image? when nothing is real? when you wake up feeling like you have just fallen asleep, and started dreaming? when you see the same face on different people, every corner you pass?
''Beats seeing different faces on everyone.''
'Everything is a copy of a copy, of a copy...' Insomniac days. Just hate those days... hate mondays... everything is out of focus. Blurry. Melting like a water painting in the rain....
''yeah. but why do you hate haiku poems?''
Days you spend missing someone you haven't even met?
Maybe you have already met that person. Maybe you just need do understand youself. Maybe you just need to meet yourself.
Sad, grey, boring, depressive days, spent looking for a purpose you know you are never going to find. That purpose doesn't exist. and even if it did, you would't want to live your live according to it. Nothing is more stupid than the high hoped chase of perfection.
Maybe you already found the purpose you're missing. Maybe it passes before your eyes every fucking day. finding it is a matter of sonner or latter. But it's better not too late.
Days when all the little arteries in your eyes can be seen from a distance?
Days when... ''well screw you. If you don't want to tell me, just say so''.
