if you know what i

I am not much of a writer but I do occasionally dabble with words, stories and poetry. I once heard, or read, that the universe is actually made of stories, despite the popular claim that it is made of atoms. It must have been one of my friends, who conducted the weekly writing workshop when I was young, who said that, but ever since I discovered that conjecture I have found a new way to look at the universe, and at the stories too. (This is exactly what she said; I am repeating her words because I feel the same and have no better way to convey it.) This discovery led to an even deeper regard for words because then I felt that I could see for myself why stories but not atoms.


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         infinite space. Then the contraction contraption machine lowering its droning cry like a warship set lose on the roads of concrete and tall electricity poles, roads with dents and craters setting lose the debris from yesterday's construction workload full of talks and complaints and inconsideration of the total metaphysical embargo on thoughts and ideas and a free mind to roam the empty skies and swim the rudimentary rivers run down by the trees of convoluted pollution of the mind. The other mind the unknown mind upstairs on a chair authoritative (?) as they call it (!) True, really, really true, I wonder how when where what this could be about about ideas and mind only mind because mind travels faster than light or that's what they say who they are I don't know so don't ask and also because who they are isn't as important as the saying itself but yeah, mind travels faster than light like tens of thousands of thoughts per second covering almost gazzillions of areas flow in and out of our mind and we can't even fathom what that could possibly mean. so why don't we change our scientific knowledge now, that we have established the fact that mind is faster than light? until yesterday we were taught that nothing is faster than light and now we know that something is isn't that phenomenal? ask ask ask ask asking is good asking brings answers so ask ask ask ask askaskaaskaskaskask ask until you can believe that the answer is correct. Ask! But i don't know. It's very complicated, science has to go through this series of series of complicated experiments and there is no way one can measure mind or its speed for that matter science isn't that scientific yet or that's what they say and I should believe because I don't know no one knows anything for sure and that's a fact my dear.


Just like my bestest favouritest author said in one of his books My witness is the empty sky. and in this sky i paint the colours I choose and make my own art. And this empty which sees everything I do, quietly and tells me nothing but it is my witness and I think that is more important than anything because My witness is the empty sky. and I believe it. Enter, Fluke Kruczinsky or Kruczynski whatever narrow strip of semi-rigid material worn underfoot to glide over snow [thank you wikipedia!] "equals to" ski on the nordic on the alps on the himalaya in on around over? what is it? ski may Fluke sounding more and more like look over the past few years because in some parts of the accents fluke is not fluːk but flʊk and no one can tell the difference because it's all subjective no one is wrong or right but i don't know what  anyone is becuase it's all subjective like anything subjective for example choices and opinions and pain and happiness and you know, a lot of things. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that is Fluke Kruz- Fluke Kruzsh- Fluke Krusch- Kruch- Kru- Kru- Kru-enski- ynski- insky- Haha, this is fun! Mr. Kruczinsky or Kruczynski or simply Fluke my friend my best friend who has come to be only friend in these last couple of years in absolute isolation. So he comes enters the scene and says, Take me by the hampton spaghetti hey run- Ah-huh, Nnnoupp, <rolling thy eyes like up and about round and round> Nope, doesn't make sense. Mr. Fluke isn't discouraged, he seldom is. Okay, Here we go again, Happy birthday see you, May god bless you too and all wishes come true, Happy birthday to you! <turn your back on me> don't you start again Mr. Fluke Kruchzschzeschezschzes- anyways, point is, this is how we do. Fluke and I, stuck in this limbo where we be running on that little wheel like delusional hamsters that have already been mentioned somewhere or maybe it was only one hamster but here we both are delusional hamsters running on our little wheels incessantly hoping to produce some kind of spark by running and running and running on and on and on round and round and round and round like some silly patterns of writing round round round the wheel that could be time or simply a toy for all that matters we are runnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnning till I lose track of things.


Here comes Fluke because he believes it too. and that's what binds us. Our witness is the empty sky. because we live under it. The empty canvas, paper and paint it with ink and shades of black and white because that is how we keep things simple in the complexity of what's around us and you and everyone. Fluke holds the brush in his hands and I give him the look like luːk and we laugh and laugh and laugh till our stomach hurts and we double over clutching our tummy and again laugh and laugh and laugh till we cry and, begin. the clouds are the steps and there is an invisible door somewhere that can only be seen if one is regardful otherwise you pass it and you won't even feel it. That's the beauty of it. Meticulously crafted door leading into another dimension hanging invisible in the air with an invisible knob and an invisible knock, that is what is coming up now and one should watch carefully.    


There are these extraordinary moments of being and not being that flow with the morning air and the Place is alive again. Out and about people walk through the crowd and mingle in the daily commotion of life that defines you me we and this little world made littler by the going-ons of telephone calls and memo notices flying like paper aeroplanes carrying secret messages in codes.


She is always there. standing on tiptoes, eyes wide grinning, expecting, persuading. That's her. Come to me me sweet miss lana banana just like that star the goddess the perfection like lana banana that's her yes it is. And she is talking. in her own language of poems and art and colours that she loves so much and wants to be surrounded by for eternity. little miss lana banana stands before me, coffee in one hand and some old newspaper in another while i look around at the people walking people talking people mocking people… “And hey, so I heard about this wonderful exhibit of sequential art works at this theatre---"; "What, how sequential?"; "You know, sequential.," <rolling eyes again> "Suppose there is this painting and then a poem based on that painting. And then a photograph derived from that poem, then perhaps a song from that photograph and so on. You know 'sequential'," <rolling eyes rolling again>; Why rolling thy eyes!? wondering silently and looking at the same considering the 'sequential art form'. "I see."; "So?"; "---"; "It's like a journey, right?"; "---"- still considering, more like thinking and appreciating it quietly in the folds of my own thoughts and mind and

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