The decade is fading away in its rightful way, when people still pass by, days and nights...without locating a means to slow down and stare.
Probably a big zero, but never nothingness. The golden era of us the generation with no regret, or a negligence of regretful sorrow. The igniting second still seems far away, but so close - glaring out as long as it could be - the fireworks in its nature is short-life. A tilting perspective of attempt to reach the sky, and so the firework broke through the silent sky, as if it would last for eternity. Ten years of wandering, a merry-go-around, I am still at the centre of the world...and the only doubt rests with the universe as of the neglect able one would ever be here, or there...
Pieces of memoir, like the shuttling threads, try to link with each other, but vague and fake. The reality can be very unreal.
Like the rolling chariot on the long ride, a mute carnival of colourful reflection. The moving images are the afterlife of existence.
Trumping an egoistic journey of discovery, the more I bypass, the further away I could reach. Life is still a touch of the feathery world. Light weighted load.
So what was I? How could it be? An unimaginable ten years of salutation, I am waving to the yesterday of me.
The summary of it...a decade of post-modernism, a rapidly distracting punctuated equilibrium. Glory of speed-surfing, flooded with aging despair. It passes...
Expo, a stage of minimalism, connection, fading arts, Paris, deja-vu, tolerance and confession, a compromise, lack of a second chance, random signaling of boredom avoidance, a replacement of topographic map, in search of more, or less? A creation of non-repeating visage, changing face, is it a means to an end? Consciousness irrationalism, un gout du vin? Secession. Still, still drinking, still diving, deep sea illusion, expression, know-how, digitising a binary self, la vitrine de remembrance. A meditation of silence, can you hear?
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