After the rain is before the rain

As the emptiness emptied, it taught me to teach in the emptiness, to simply follow this Zen that presented itself to me, there, covid-curled, genetically focused, on what remained important when you take the punch line out of Castanedian recapitulations, wintery, springlike, without radiotherapy, paying a little of the bills that you have accumulated, finally we are honest with each other, seasoned with a little Ohana, then summer comes.

The other or a journey

Grand Canal, Italy

, I know the answers, prefer the shady spots while the sun is erupting. Venice is one of those fluffy promises that have to be kept. I'm cancelling Shinta, I'm cancelling Amanita. I'm cancelling everyone else.

Walpurgis forest fire, the old sick hospital on the island in front of the masquerade city, the water is cleaner again, not a dumb cruise ship anywhere in sight. You can even sleep in the shared hostel room. Only sometimes someone moans as they shovel themselves free.

I play Heart of Iron because there was no clubbing to be found, everything was still foamy, espresso was more expensive, but you don't have to spend hours looking for an affordable gondola. We go our separate ways, but this arc lamp bridge ophelia is a tender labyrinth of rediscovery, and if not by itself, you can remember where to go by the pigeon shit.

Noting how one could push the reality games, in this bookshop here, hidden just three minutes from St. Mark's Square. Attentive observers will clearly see that every book, every blog, every lie, every shrine, all apps and many modded drone dreams, they all form a dance with each other, sometimes with social, at other lights on sexual red.

Even hashtags and nicknames from twenty years ago are by no means random.

Favorite creatures

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Meanwhile, Machiavelli knows who is taking photos in his ear, I look at postcards. Celibacy is like a warm oath.

All I am left with are the thoughts and stories, the naked, smooth, aged skin in coconut.

Unless the Mali-black sinner over there in the parking lot takes pity on you. I'll sneak over to you tomorrow at the latest. There's one of us in an alley, five tiramisu for ten minutes of refugee donation.

I don't just like the black George very much.
I liked it a thousand more than the boring neither white nor yellow of our latitude.

Pale or nothing, no solarium tricks

Nobody can beat Armani tanning creams for me, not even here. The orange comes from the carotene, Donald, please do a better test or get advice from Anouk, she knows what she's talking about.

I had always exfoliated myself well, but the many hair roots and then also on my face meant that the skin was not smooth enough, the pores were a bit too large and my forehead was already wrinkled at the age of fourteen, which threatened to indicate that I had been thinking since the kisses of my kindergarten teachers.

It's perverse how beautifully I can write, Flamingo, isn't it? But there's no need for a different opinion on all this. My questions are rhetorical gazelles, the past is an ashtray without value, thrown away out there in the cold.

My gondolier chatters something nice, Italy…

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