If a mute told you he was a mute, would you believe him?

to be exposed against the limits of
the wind
is nudity of mind
of sex
of sexism

one by one - to fall, to fall
and then point to me
show me, goddamnit
what is your face before you spoke

to speak, to be exposed and to expose
your face - it's not a sound
not a fate scribbled in dogmas

let me show you peppercorns on a cob
crying for the loss of blue,
a mute butterfly
clapping with its eyelids
or, perhaps, a trifle argument
flicking through memories of salt

oh the permanence of a blink in a moment of seeing
an inch of sentiment thrown in
for good measure
to protect our serious sense of being
(a life-long lullaby
to the selflessness of things)

a kiss


prelude to an ecstasy


of colour
of splendid


moments.

a fake smile



another one!

(the only kind allowed,
and only with a purpose -

never a smile for a smile's sake)

yes, please do donate some money
to some of the world's
richest people

muchly appreciated, thankyouverymuch (smile)

a one-winged love
a one
a winged
a somehow related
opportunity


sex flourishing between such
and the beauty of
the body of love
a regardless proposition
attempting to subvert -

fuck off,
what do you know?


resting on whispers
and dying

dying.


give us another, will you

I need this, I really
I need this
right now

no, fuck you, you know
shit


to be felt in your entirety by
strokes, kisses and breaths

of wonder, of telling, of
the interstices of meanings
the hidden gems
that guard his lies


herein rests my
lonely love
lonely for you
lonely for only one
a diminishing distance

but a distance.

empty words fall on pages, gently, like petals of snowflakes on probation, trying not to wake up the slightest whisper.

a girl

a smile

walking gently, not to
step on the
smallest flowers


once found
forever small

and gently gently

like the softest whisper

lie there
lither,
wither
with her

his arms around her
sun is warm, birds are singing-
she said not a word.

lone·ly /ˈloʊnli/

1. loveless (see also love); not mutually exclusive with the word alone: one may be alone but not lonely, and one may be lonely but not alone; unfrequented by emotions, which usually only appear as memories of distant things.

1. in a sad situation, where little can be done without increasing a feeling of separation from the rest of the world; an imaginary plexiglass - rainproof, painproof, conversationproof and peopleproof.

1. everything suddenly seems more real.

1. go away.

Jack had always lived on a cloud.

Or at least, that's what he remembered. He wasn't sure, because at the same time he knew that clouds don't always exist. He would swear, though, that he remembers a long time ago, so long ago that no cloud has ever known to have lived. Yet he did not remember not living on a cloud.

He never paid much attention to such feelings, though. He knew he lived on a cloud now, so what did it matter if he had actually lived on a cloud for the rest of his life or if he only started living on a cloud a few seconds ago and he just carries those memories with him since?

"Hello", he whispered.

"Who are you?", came the answer.

"I am Jack, who are you?"

"I don't know, you said hello to me first."
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Yes. Look, "Jack smiled. He grabbed some stardust and shaped it into a frog. "here's a frog. I made it for you."
"It's not a frog"
"It is, one made of stardust."
"But it doesn't feel like one."
Starting to dislike his new companion, Jack summoned the best of his stardust-shaping abilities to make a rose with some of the remaining stardust.
"There, here's a rose, then."
"That's not a rose either."
"What is it then?"
"Roses aren't made of that, so it can't be a rose."
"That's stardust."
"Stardust is a sound. Is that how a sound looks like?"
Quite annoyed with the little voice in the air, after Jack looked purposelessly at the stardust, he took a handful and threw it at her and said "There. Is that any better?"
"Ah, now that's quite something! It's beautiful isn't it?"
"What, stardust?"
"No, that's a sound - I am not too much a fan of sounds. But this," said the voice, swinging around the stardust, "this is beautiful."

Jack was a bit confused. But he couldn't bother thinking too much about things. It didn't really matter - life on a cloud is immaterial, so nothing really matters.

"I really like stardust because in the evening the smell changes to rapsberries and cherries. In the morning it's all too mushroomy and it irritates my appetite."
"What do you mean by 'smell'?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I don't know what that is. I've never had a nose, you see," exclaimed the voice, "so it's never occurred to me that a nose would add something to my life that I couldn't already feel. As far as I care, there is no such thing as smell."
"But there is! I can smell. Just because you can't it doesn't mean there aren't smells."
"That's what you think", snapped the voice.
"Why?"
"Because if you didn't think you wouldn't say anything."
"So how can you hear, if you have no ears? And how can you speak if you have no mouth?"
"I don't."
"Do you think, then?"
"No."
"So what are you, then?", said Jack not the least quite confused now.
"How do you do?"
"What?"
"I like the smell of your cloud."
"You just said you can't smell a minute ago"
"Of course I can", lied the voice.
"I am fine, thank you. Are you waiting for someone?"
"If I was waiting for someone, what would happen to me when he arrived?"
"I don't know. There would be some reason why you're here. Otherwise, why are you here?"
"I don't know."
"It seems neither of us does. What do you know?"
"I don't know anything, I'm just a voice.."
"But you can speak!", Jack interrupted her.
"I'm a voice! I don't speak, I just am."
"So you're a voice."
"No I'm not - that's a sound, I'm not a sound."
"Why?"
"I'm just not."
"So what are you?"
"Only you can answer that - there's no one else around."
"Why?"
"Would I be here if there was no one to listen to me?"
"I don't understand."
"Then stop trying to." the voice shouted while walking away.

Jack had always lived on a cloud. He couldn't remember exactly how long he had lived there, but it must have been a long while now. Sometimes he would think that, actually, he remembers living on a cloud for longer than a cloud's lifetime. But did it matter - doesn't the cloud smell nice now?