Lexicon Writing

Never I know it here, in this way. Never I kept

dreaming about it, it’s the dirt of ______

It’s the dirt not ______ but home

Insanity of reality. Honestly I adore the generosity.

You could not let the city engage with you but not an individual, not anymore.

Nostalgia they say, not not not me.

Just to begin the road, go on the thing

In people’s particles and dusts, finally 

I don't feel 

Hyper, 

super hyper

fantastically hyper

Hyper reality till

now a spirit grows out: in music 

Maybe you felt it.

It's okay to be above because it’s (so growled ) going -

to lay down.

(It is about a lot of people, 

Move!

More inward

or inward but 

better be infinite

This is the distant land

This is this land

The thirst in your throat(

marking an uprising of chemical in your brain)

Keep questioning: does it feel

feel good? To have this brain

I can’t stop 

I can’t stop being in my loops)

Among all those I FELT

The city, not just in my brain anymore…

The clinking of metals, touching each other… run over each other. However, it’s like bells, the intention - function of hitting, either raising notice or too careless about the notice it raised. 

In the opposite of miracles, sometimes, but also a miracle for me, miracles on the ground. 

Nothing dreamlike, unless — unless you always see this world as a dream. Dreams, and people around us, going on with their life. One step before understanding them all, get involved… get involved everywhere. 

The friendly people, unfriendly traces of ruins, the smell of decay or a fun time, fun time without law; no actual danger, only people. Maybe yeah, I don't want to see you Kevin, I don't, indeed. You don’t reply to me when I am away.

I can’t stop, hopefully I can’t stop this pen.

Hopefully still approaching what is in my brain.

(only child only child)

That distant land, a feeling to capture.

That feeling, this morning / that morning, when you were on the road, you met two people; you imagine, the feeling here. Thoughts inserted by that “thing” previously.

You see, that “thing” is the thing I am avoiding to talk about right now.

Because it will indicate that everything is so sillllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllly.

Waves hitting the rocks

Sometimes when you are offclass, that’s the only place you could go when you are alone. There is another place, yet I don’t have such a vivid memory of it as the memory I am having at this moment. When years and years are fading in fog, the summertime by the beach, on the rocks of the island I took my shroom. I saw my friend in the rain on that day, my blood was flooding, soaked wet, but you came, I swam in the water. I can’t believe I didn't write. I swam in the dirty water because you said we are going to jump into the lake. It feels sneaky, slippery? The leaves of water plants, swam to the other side. It’s kind of boring then, when no one shows up. The view is beautiful, I have no other plans, no friends to hang out with. 

It has been better now, I know so many people, some of them are my friends — finally it’s no longer the bare city. 

The skeleton of the city, the people are its flesh. 

When I know no one and don’t know how to engage with the groups, it has been so boring and choking my lungs. 

Days and nights desperate for help, maybe Kevin you don’t know my situation back then, I think it’s okay if you show up or not because I am this painful and desperate, it’s okay to have a spark or just none.

I hope I keep on writing so I don't forget anything. Thinking about this city, before I leave or not… in the end.

In the end in the end in the end in the end in the end

Chicago city, city cops

City cops, have you ever

Kick that sleeping bag

All smells, bad but bad is not that all, not all of them

Rather I hate repetition

Bit

But buy, buy the freedom

Right now buy freedom (I hate music)

All those remind me of a video game

The distant land of cold dust from another era, future in illusion

Communism, industry, 

Grounded leaving a trace there

The failure, the smell, stuck in people’s 

Residues

I call here home now

And the thirst in your throat usually means

chemical

I see those people everyday, they are strange, very strange people, alienated for so long, now I

start to feel like this is my city too

I never saw kids playing here, the sound of traveling through winds is a myth to imagine, but preexisting, in my brain, before ending up in reality

No you couldn’t imagine how we fantasize about another land, as if all joy in heaven ended up just somewhere else, but on this planet.

And I realize, this is just another home of people, of some other people.

But they start to become my people, too.

So I like the things I smelt, in an imagination. Injecting

the strangeness, the coldness, the 

burnt out city.

Like living in a ruin, still. No longer protecting the realm of perfection.

No longer protecting the longing for transcending-human matter. Home 

thus starts. I gave up on

We finally give up 

the inner popularity and the outside

No Elysium.