The blank...

... the break, the pause, the distance, the air between the things. The things we're surrounded by, the humans we face, look 'em straight in the eye.

The blank is gone, there is no air, no space, nothing in between. Nothing stays in order – lift your little finger, and you overturn a tree. The space in which you dance is of substance, connected to the table and the chair, the lamp, the plant – you call it air. If there was no pause, no distance, if the strings were to see, would you stand still?

The system feeds the ego, the self; it rewards disconnection. It's convenient to think nothing matters. Easy life. Yet I myself get thrown around by all living and dead creatures. Their words, their thoughts, vibes, and gestures take up a lot of space in my mind – I must assume my moving has similar effects on others. Then I paralyze, gasp for air, the pressure is too high not to fuck up their dance. Is there a choreography I should have learned? I don't remember. What a burden. We'd have to learn prudence.

Spend a day with it. DeVaux.

The Tree and I

Don't worry, I didn't overdose on mushrooms. I'm well aware of where I send my mind in my mental escapism from the depths of human depravity. So no, the trees do not talk to me – not even my 34-year-old room plant. But there is a place in which they do, and you know it too.

Deklaration
Nichts von alledem was hier geschrieben, muss irgendeinen Sinn ergeben. Nur zum Verdruss, zum Vertreiben der Zeit, die unseren Geistern auf dieser Erde bleibt.

Teilbarkeit
Kommen dir Menschen in den Sinn, die das Absurdum lesen sollten? Weiterleiten.

Food for Thoughts
Kein Wort entspricht in keinem Raum zu keiner Zeit demselben.