Академический Документы
Профессиональный Документы
Культура Документы
man was taking out the thrash, whistling. I was drawn towards him, like razors to an untrimmed beard. The lucky one was startled by my appearance, but restrained himself, kept his eye on my every move. Little did he know, that soon our bond would strengthen and be made indestructible to everything else than a man and his memory. He tried hard, letting out scrambled pitches in a chaotic, yet structured order, what he said is not relevant. He stopped at the sight of my drawn liberator. But it was too late by now. Everything was too late. As the tip of my blade penetrated his chest, he let out a bereavement shriek of pain. In that crucial moment of life our voices met in song, our eyes reflected our souls, we were stripped, naked. Our bare dancing bodies melted together through mortality. His questioning look was smothered in terror, it didnt matter whether he was breathing or not. The darkness will come, as it does every day at sunset. I liberated him, forever in my memory to be kept, guarded. I made him immortal. The concept of walking in circles, looping, the movement; a downward spiral, drawing, drilling its way into even the most stabile mind. The psyche can achieve great things, but if one occupy it with a monotonous action for an eternity even the most balanced will tilt, fall off the barrel, into the grasp of the merciless river. This obliterating force of the self cause us to strive, strive towards better times, tones and tools, but with what purpose? What allows this excessive use of words is the same excuse for carrying on, if there ever was one. Everything is made by opposite, fundamental features; the line between different opposites is grey, blurry, hazy, melting together. The differences we experience when we look at an object are just meaningless variations, for in reality everything is one. There are no lines, no borders, that differs us from everything. Between black and white, us and them, me and you, there is no more than coherence. Everything is processes. Near a dumpster I found what seemed like a mystery, little did I know, I was closer to the core of this inevitable request that his distant eyes sent me then I cared about. But his twisted body invited my curiosity, incited my interest. Under the old, dark, skin, that had existed longer than I, simple lines occurred. He had been a handsome man, perhaps a sailor, not that it mattered anyway. For now my speculations were excessive. He paused for a second. Dont you know who I am?