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?

like waves on a mountaintop
and birches casting their shadows on
starfish

like a chestnut in a cloud
or a smile in a moleskine
(in G major's pocket)

where is it, the question
that I'm asking
when I don't know who


it is that asks it?

you want it to be
short?













then it probably needs a dot.

I once saw a snowflake melt
right in front of me

The vastness that it is


the realisation
of something turning into something
else

A flash of beauty strikes
relentlessly
at each snowy footstep
into the cemetery of the comedy
that life is.

the question -always- is, was it entirely dark?
the question -always- is, were you listening carefully enough?
the question is not whether you want to ask it.

the question is, are you going to answer it?