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more about materia balls
I’m trying to keep them all together. This is no love letter, it’s just a way wishing you - lil - a good night and letting the world know about it.
about materia balls
The moon is far away. I mean not far away in an astronomical sense. In an astonomical sense she’s just a millimeter away from us compared to all the other materia balls flying around in the universe. But she’s far away compared to the subway station next to you or to New Zealand or to anything else global. You can ocasionally see her - the moon - at night times as a disk or as parts of a disk in the sky when there are no clouds preventing the direct view into infinity. She grows and deminishes, grows and deminishes. She does eversince there has been the first human, the first beast, the first plant, the first life on earth. She’s unstable and she’s reliable. She always has been and she always will be.
I have no idea why I tell you this. Maybe it’s to draw your attention for a second? Maybe it’s for the same reason that eating a piece of chocolate is even more delicious when you first have to unwrap it from its silverish aluminium foil cover? Probably that.
I did dream about you (amongst) last night, wildly mixing up everything. I woke up all happy like I didn’t for a long time, smiling and still shaking my head while preparing my first coffee.
I really do
A miserable day full of obligations, a lot of silly tech but no progress at all comes to an end. I wish I’d now deserve to dream about your tender, big and beautiful eyes, lil. I really do.
Have dreams full of pink and turquoise bubbles, lil. →·←
Let me wish you an evening full of attention. Attention to you like the white shawl of a 1930ies movie actor swung around his neck.
a hell of a parade
Dear fluorescent mistress of the bread,
You are at least somewhere, you’re real, somehow.
Wolkenkuckucksheim is a vast land. The seagulls oversee things. They pass over to the Heim, every evening. And they make a hell of a parade before doing so. Right before the night descends.
Sleep tight, jolly queenie.
My trans/fluorescent lilly dear,
The poetry of things is (un)limited. Maybe on the long run …
You’re so beautiful sleeping.
I mean, you do not really expect me to share on everything (though it’s tempting, I know), do you?
Dunno about the current moon. But let me appear in your dreams as a potato or something, please.
your beautiful clock
We exchanged totems in that bar: I gave you gabbiani, you gave me мышка. We fullfilled the circle. Not willingly, maybe it was due to a temporary wind in time or suchlike. Anyhow. We are above it all, I guess.
May I ask what time it is on your beautiful clock, lil’?
according to your moods
And still, I assume the gabbiani mostly circling in front of my window but rarely right above of it to change their ways according to your moods.
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