Writing should be a search, a quest through words, whose only direction is the beyond of words - life in its pure sacred immanence…
Writing is not about stories, theories and contents, which in our post-modern world have been exhausted to the point of sick parodies, but rather, a clearing of words through words – to write the crystal thunder of silence on the opaque infinity of being…
The infinite soul of man for the finitudes of science: not only is God dead, but Faust is about to collect his dues, any moment now....
What does one do, when one sees an infinite promise full of life and beauty? one tries to catch those eyes, maybe to glimmer a possible empathy, even to try to capture the secret possibility of a spiritual communion - whose reality will always be in dispute, even after the event - was it all an material illusion?
The crystal quest: find and inebriate the true passion of minerals and crystals, and break on through to the other side of infinity…
The only feel and hope there is: to live under the archway of a crystal infinity…
If there is nothing, and all is matter, why the perpetual epiphenomena of life and self?
In-between spirit and matter, shimmering mirages in a desert of illusions….
A general emptiness from time to time infuses all things: people speak, but, they don't make sense, apart from a strange phonetic cacophony; almost like, slivering lizards bathing in the white coldness of multiple moons....silvery lizards hiding in-between the city’s shapes and shadows...
Eyes that exchanged nothing, except the void of each other…
Night-time in the ultraviolet shaded city: under cheap neon lights and the thudding vibes of elegant beats, he waits, for a female design to emerge, out of the undifferentiated darkness, into the crystal light…He sat down, near the edge of the dancing crowd, a void looking for another void. Then, one fall of light caught his eyes; emerald eyes reflected the gyrating lights around the dazzling shards…
Dressed in black, slits high in front…dancing away all she had, Valerie felt, at last, a kind of melting freedom, gently surging itself to the pounding rhythms, gently pressing her inside, or so it seemed, for the heroin-ecstasy mix was already fading blue...
A sacred whore from Babylon, rising from the shadows of the gods...or maybe not...a material girl graving for thrills, tricks and chemistry…
