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"No(ooo) llora la nube que pasa cae la lluvia ataca el piso inunda la rama pura caigo al agua soy tu imaginación que desborda y desborda y me vuelve invisible quiero salir salvame de vos salto mortal un impulso Me quedo quieta en el fondo del agua tiemblo hace frío soy una canción soy tu abrigo Mirá tu imagen se clava en mí trata de hablar pero tiene mi voz quiero salir sálvame de vos salto mortal un impulso sin sentir ni reír me muevo en circulos para salir de vos me muevo en círculos para salir de vos me muevo en círculos para salir de vos"

Pero me preferís en triángulos. Y yo... yo en realidad soy sólo un asterisco (en la garganta)

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[07:12:46 a.m.] f.no says: ay el de la izquierda no lo pude leer bien
[07:13:25 a.m.] elise says: when we are sleeping
[07:13:44 a.m.] elise says: aeroplanes carry memories of the horrors we have given our silent consent to
[07:14:04 a.m.] elise says: into the night sky of our cities and leave them there to gather like clouds and condense
[07:14:12 a.m.] elise says: into our dreams before the morning

Nothing happens where we live and time does not pass we are stuck in a sudden electric moment like the second of the turning on of the car headlights like the second of the hit of the line of coke there is no history here the spectacle (fame) which takes its name from the spectre (ghost) rules and we see ghosts of ourselves pass by on billboards we see our own image pass by on the sides of buses and we remember nothing

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Everything perfect in its kind has to transcend its own kind, it must become something different and incomparable. In some notes the nightingale is still a bird; then it rises above its class and seems to suggest to every winged creature what singing is truly like.


- johann von goethe, elective affinities, from ottilie’s diary, 1809

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