etroita

etroica eroita etroita because they all fell into deep love and lived a joyous life every day of their lives they relaxed in their sunshine apartments where we all slept and relaxed for as long as we needed until the very last moment of our lives long and soundly and birdsongs and sunshine didnt wake us outside because we had all the time in the world to rest and love another quietly together an endless morning forever and until the end of the world

i think i can pretty well manage to live in a parallel universe. i have it all imagined in pictures, the ideas i held for a long time that may have gone rotten in the bracing windy historical moment with light outside, but are still alive and as alive as they can be because i know that i can animate them from my heart, whatever i see with eyes i can live out into the thing i think it would be cool if it was. So, whil i from infinity a night blue room see pictures of mysterious places and relaxing sunshine apartments, i dont know wherei will end up being able to live, but i can worm into them however it may be, even if it doesnt exist, although its an image about 10 years out of date because of my long dying delaying in a childhood bedroom, i think in the same way i can be whoever i like ,because theres no limit on it becuase who do i know? No one will perceive whatever i am, so i may as well imagien wahtever, i am living among the friendly animals and characters i like to think about often, in their sunny apartments, dsepite their struggles...

(2026, may)

hoga's world

dozing fearless, as i take out a healthy breath and in, no one else can feel and love clouds and grass like i, in our flying building city, whose pavements and posts are stylish, rain makes them clean, puddles fill with cute sachets, lights scatter liminally and there are cloaks in trains, blurry trees comfort the shaded eye, one of these autumns is the dream of my lifetime to and after now, living one among many rushers with tired but comfortable hearts, everything together, lets go to a cafe, we can sleep every day, without the energy for joy in it, only this lulling, unbotheredness's bliss, silence, stillness freeing a mind to sprawl until it has remade the primordial jumble, an old book, entire world of earth and lives, wide air only sensible through the thickest stenching woody pages, all layered and still, browned, sex, let us touch together ourselves now, that have worked so long to make this loved aim real, i love your flesh a lot, excess' dying touch, cheese that is impossible, scuba falling into the ground, slowly seep to sadly sleeping soil, decades before, a rainy field of muddy grass, softball players, a whistle after each glum fling, finally stabbing laughter.

In our world, we have betrayed every past and every future hope, a depraved status, maybe we can get by without massacres

(2026, may)

the number one trillion: an exploration

one trillion is a little creature like a millipede.

1,000,000,000,000 is the crawling length of its person.

10^12 is an index to the creature, but the creature is an index itself!

It's an index to an extremely long experience.

description of 22nd march 2025

i took enough trains to turn my bed into what felt like some kind of train when i lay in it that night. Rolling, swelling, boat-like, jittering caused by an absence of a habituated expected jitter. There were many people, and i hadnt seen too many people lately otherwise. It was interesting to see them rush around alongside me, being busy talking on phones, discussing matters with one another, considering accessibility for the man without a left leg. One woman was talking seriously and somewhat frantically to someone using a mobile phone covered with a case that displayed a fanciful image of Paris, some kind of cafe on the street in front of the eiffel tower. Who knows how much the owner looked and cared about the imagery, but it does remind me that every person has untold dreams and images that power them behind their everyday hustle and bustle.

what i hope will happen

The walls were gone and broken down, meaning the thick concentrations of unloved habitual smells, radiant heat from hands melting to glue in rooms, and, above all, the darkness--all this, now opened into the infinite vastness of the open-skied world, could immediately disperse into the thinnest of imperceptible vapours. The cloak of misery that shrouded her and stifled her breath was a thin wisp of smoke. A gentle breeze blew its remains, together with a sparse handful of yellow leaves, bits of paper, and fag-ends, further and further from her senses. Blue morning air, cooling but not cold, felt like a necessary food. She gulped and swallowed it like water. When the heat of warmth fell away, the chill that shook her seemed like an embrace. Perhaps the embrace of an icy Earth; but at least a real Earth she could see and smell. An Earth that let you move around, that would not hover over you and push you this or that way; if anything, a kind of Earth that would leave you to fly away anywhere, and wouldn't care to check if you were there or gone. That was her impression of the street of trees, windows, cafe and lamps that met her. Catching her dazed breath, she carried herself to a bench. Could a moment last past this? What day to day life could exist now?

the single use plastic bag

my skin is thin and transparent as inner onion skin and im a vessel, bag, or case. Artificially made, there was a pleasing circularity to my defects. As I could never fit in, so much could fit into me. Well, I was soon filled all up with every sepid thing, and pooling at my lower sag was all the sifted juice of all that refuse. My mouth was unbound, and at the same time my sagged bladder scraped and spilled on the concrete, and I fell over and my mouth overflowered with the scrunched up paper towels and other solids, and all blew away before me. As you can guess, I was feeling pretty worse for wear. Then the flocks of eager birds plucked at me with their beaks, but their touch was surprisingly delicate; open enough already, almost none of my skin was pierced, only at times shortly ground between the toothless jaws edgeways and by chance. All the edible soil was removed from the area, and my emptiness was complete again, with only one small beak-tip hole. Next, mother Earth herself blew herself into me, from my mouth right into my heart and bowels, bringing an elation to me that buoyed my body from the ground to the blustering heavens. This went on for some time, and during the course of these windy journeys I saw much of the world pass around my sac-esque, fluttering self.

fresgrove, a fragment

as grey-blue fills the tense morning, low celsius fresh breezes wash through thin walls of the widely spaced tack houses; one denizen of one of them, living at night, rises from her oil heated task and pushes through the cold air that has stayed still in the hallway all these starry cloudy hours, stiffleggedly marching to the kitchen for a cup of tea. If her surroundings had not been so cold and rigid, she would have tried, like soap, to melt herself into them, to vanish from encodable experience by diffusing into other things by chance. But even this urge felt itself only as a recollection of a dead urge. Like the tiles of the kitchen, and the muddy grass and dew ticking its life out unseen beneath clouds, out the window, this living artefact was immobile for the time being, unable to be moved. What was she doing that night? Foolish internet usage, hopeless chess games against unspoken-to names, which began to resemble one another more and more. At this stage Fresgrove was past giving up trying to 'fix her sleep', and simply let herself live her dark late life, going sleepless if something should come up requiring daylight presence-----actually, this morning she was doing precisely this.

In panicking moments, she had a tendency to be dizzy. things happen because they will; all the room's objects are held stiffly in position in their various places on countertops and shelves by the action of the grand diffuse power of the earth's pull. The panic subsided, but more from exhaustion than resolve, and the cold stiffness of the stone world around her settled everything, and it seemed impossible that anything would ever move.

(2024)

the monkey - with compliments and love to my dear friends

Nobody expected anything but a normal, cheerful, bustling day at the market. All the city folk gathered as usual, some peddling wares, others purchasing wares, and many sitting down with friends for a pleasant lunch as the sun reached its zenith in the city’s slightly polluted, building-scraped sky. Conversations tended to settle on easy topics, such as the weather, work, food, sport. And everyone was calm.

That was when the monkey arrived. Nobody knows how, but somehow, there it was. A frenzied monkey, swinging through the marketplace. Perhaps it grew from a gardening stall’s mysterious seeds, grabbed by seagulls and dropped in the gutter of the market roof, fertilised by city dust and spiked plane tree fruits. Regardless of its origin, its presence was undeniable.

The decorative hangings of light globes that drooped between the market roofs furnished the monkey with the perfect substitute for a jungle’s typical vines, and deftly it flipped, swung, and leapt from roof to roof, from stall to stall, above the heads of the amazed populace.

‘Someone catch that monkey!’, one person cried. It was in vain. How could anyone hope to catch such a skilled acrobat? As if in reply, the monkey performed an incredible backflip from the light hangings, 5 metres high or more, and landed bouncing on an umbrella-like sunshade. It then bounced from sunshade to sunshade, making the whole market rattle.

Without ever appearing to tire, this long tailed, chestnut brown apparition continued its endless acrobatics all throughout the day. As, however, the shadows of the city skyscrapers began to lengthen in the reddening evening, and the marketgoers shuffled out as more and more stalls closed for the day, the monkey slowed its artistry, and, as mysteriously as it had appeared, again vanished.

‘I wonder where it gets all that energy from,’ one passerby commented to their companion. At that very moment, they caught a glimpse of a strangely short, large-coated figure in the crowd, their face obscured by a large hat.

‘Must be a young child,’ they thought -- mistakenly.

The next morning, Mr Banana was searching through CCTV footage. The previous night had seen a horrific incident at Mr Banana’s Banana Bargains.

‘What happened to those god-damned bananas?’ he muttered to himself, as he sipped his coffee. But then he stopped dead. The coffee mug fell to the ground, shattering.

‘No… it’s not possible…’

(2024)