Daily Delirium

I closed the car door and stood there looking out the window of the parking lot, third floor, cigarette in my mouth and the city running in the fog. there is no day that looks better than this. they all acquire an alignment in a continuous row and end up massive and voluminous repeating what would be the extract of the years with small variations. out there is this semi-white category of blurred life, the diffuse movement of vehicles and people acting as time-lapse frames, complementing a dull, low-resolution video frame. you have, of course, the immediate option of abandoning everything, fulfilling this destiny once and for all through painful and quick abbreviation, but you can also empower your own steps and face the odyssey of the routine in which you are stripped of the dream and put in front of the machine gun of facts where one is, at the same time, a bullet and a target. the criteria to decide the best fall were already present in the shower earlier, it was enough to look at the water draining down the drain, returning as a liquid mirror my own image in an amorphous reflection under the yellowish light of the spot, this one actually toning and showing a thursday squalid and hepatic: we don't have the animalistic dexterity of nature that protects us from ourselves, so the mire of sensory influxes and neural reflux transforms us into this questionable organic form that is still a cheap battery that continuously discharges and fails in its mission of just allowing us to exist.