Flooded blood

Dear Tony,

Calmed down from the storm I found that conundrum where the true path has varied implications, and there I dwelled on how I should start, if I ever started, on how I should ever finish; it came then alive the reminiscence of those accomplices and those common frauds, of those will to not get rid of that burning desire to escape from this common cage…

I came back from embedding within my spirit not a Protos bottle of wine but seven pints of the whole palette of breweries this island offers to its inhabitants, partly to thank them for comprehension, partly to bribe them to not tell anyone of the joyful times the prisoners enjoy within its borders.

I came back and committed the daily suicide of checking this so-called mail account, which sometimes really accounts something, but that others, the majority, is only giving evidence of the imposed desire of being accountable, just finite to become grid-coordinated... in that nightmare I found shelter within your words and realised that the tide was low enough to find within them the sincerity and the straightforwardness that only comes without order, from the very inside...

I should say that I keep alive missing what I do not not miss and not missing what I do not miss, if I ever was not conscious of missing anything at all, beyond that I struggle to see the difference within the blue scales contained in the darkness intensities of grey, but even then, doing my best, concealing threats of reaching too short, tightening myself in a tears-and-blood cloth, I cannot do otherwise but to ensure that my thoughts are within the purity and clarity of your voice stream.

Take care of yourself and your entropy,

AyO