Landscape May 28, 2014 9:51:40 AM – 9:53:33 AM

Was there really a fire somewhere? Through the hole in the fence.

In every day, remnants of meaning slid along with me. Somewhere behind the eyes a careful lamp looks. Like another day where that was impossible. Then someone tried his hand at literary debate. Incomprehensible sentences to dress up in. I wrote nothing down in that period. You answered like that.

Conversation May 28, 2014 9:40:33 AM – 9:42:34 AM

Later, one of the following nights, as we followed each other down each our line. And we awoke. The cloud hid something from the birds. Every night the mind of the sun strikes a chasm through the mountains. And we awoke.

And we awoke. And we awoke. And we awoke. And we awoke. And we awoke. And we awoke. And we awoke. And we awoke. And we awoke. And we awoke. The plains reached the sea that reached up to the sky that reached the eyes as a light fog. And we awoke. And we awoke. And we awoke.

And we awoke. And we awoke. And we awoke. And we awoke.

And we awoke. And we awoke. And we awoke. And we awoke. And we awoke.

And we awoke.

May 28, 2014 9:33:24 AM – 9:33:54 AM

What do you count to? What do you count to? What do you count to? What do you count to?

What do you count to? What do you count to? What do you count to? What do you count to? What do you count to? What do you count to? What do you count to? What do you count to? What do you count to?

What do you count to? What do you count to? What do you count to? What do you count to? What do you count to? What do you count to?

Conversation May 27, 2014 3:01:51 PM – 3:03:14 PM

Suddenly one night, giraffes fell from your dreams. I sat alone in the sun. Coloured the words gentle. Everything behind everything.

I don’t know where we disappeared.

The rain, the wind between the leaves of trees, your lips, your lips, your lips.

In the night a distant voice had almost fallen asleep.

Conversation May 27, 2014 2:45:45 PM – 2:47:30 PM

I don’t disappear. Were these lines really real?

From the greatest lines we find, every night – in the dark darkness that is dark – our way into the most insignificant scientific truths. The intimacy in writing. …brb… Next to my one foot an open book was engaged in light conversation with the wind. Like the palm of a hand without flesh; light and shadow falling through it. I could not phrase those sentences.

Landscape May 27, 2014 2:44:08 PM – 2:45:42 PM

Mail in November. Someone has put his sweater on properly. The sand. Like another night where everything was lol lol and hectic screaming in the distance. The books could not be opened, they were codes of language. A bare piece to chew on, that is what poetry is like down to the smallest details. You in my window, on my window sill.

My one pen is red and the other is black. The words tear into the innermost. Figs on the ground.

Landscape May 27, 2014 2:42:10 PM – 2:44:04 PM

And yet, was it the big systems I feared?

Days. Weeks.

While I read your sentences, you wrote further into yourself. Birds flapping in the clinking of the diode night. Nothing is deeper than the skin? The lime. Sand eyes. The techno of the northern lights, you sing, is the foreign language.

The chair wobbles.

Landscape May 27, 2014 2:40:34 PM – 2:42:06 PM

Were these lines really real?

It doesn’t matter. The sentence that fell from your mouth just now. There was a whirling in the air and colours shimmered off the walls. I read a line of sun: I walk on sun, I know nothing but sun. The mind of the sun. The spaces of words are undoubtedly what is most important.

I write in the night, in the moist seriousness.

Conversation May 27, 2014 2:38:06 PM – 2:39:49 PM

Was I? Afterwards we lay across ice-age mountain ranges, across creased sheets, across a secret hesitation in the origins of diamonds. I wrote nothing down in that period. The coffee is cold in the cold window, I am not going to drink it, it is cold.

I have written you a map.

In the first night, I could not settle down, the body that was absent next to me, the silence.

Landscape May 27, 2014 2:36:37 PM – 2:38:02 PM

The ideal, said the decaying walls with contempt, is not necessarily cohesion and pop. The silicon. The mind of the sun.

Do not seek shelter in the river of another language, but learn it. In every night remnants of meaning slid along with you. The intimacy in writing.

The intimacy in writing. A dark being oozes from my mouth and seems quiet. Around hesitant stars we came up with names for things.