Monday, December 3, 2012

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Haven't walked with the wise one..haven't stopped collecting mustard seeds of desire from red and blue doors. Haven't stopped  free falling with the recklessness of an emotional fool on imaginary wings.
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Yesterday the priest left the  loneliness of the temple -  stones with silly makeup,wild flowers with the strange smell of obscurity,  water which can never stay still anywhere. Left every thing for the mountains, to find the atheist God.

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Am a box maker, forever packing and re packing, waiting for buses, trams, planes, cycles..which may or may not arrive. That is a nice little bag, will sit across the shoulders. Can walk miles and miles and miles till a headlight decides to shine somewhere. Put those rocks of hope inside, though they will break my back. The bag will be feather light without them. But should believe that one day, right on the top of an icy morning, they will fly out of the bag to become little stars across a small balcony, drenching every thing around in rainbow colors. 

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