the muscular control of Abstraction

together. finally I can see a gun and a bag of fingers. black on a balcony, two bills of my last meal at Valantino. I started walking, with a milk cup on my hand. But it was awkward. No muscular control. instead of a walk, I was dancing. Madrid or Houston.
My love debt is currently payed. I have no debts. Proud to say that. I can snooze now, and start to loose some lips. One desert and a gallon of cherosene.

Who am I is always haunting me. and all those who like to think. To travel around clouds, the stars, to know what is our place in this world. I check my human list. Still alot of "x" to write in that small but important shred of paper.


And I am starting to emerge from abstraction
And reality slams into my face with such intensity that makes me laugh