The place where fountains of waters and dynamic smokes get mixed and precipitated into scattered mists,
well we all live there.
As I opened my eyes after a monsoon afternoon… hungover, clueless of the dimensions,
I saw this imagery on my indifferent windows inked over pierced sky.
Perhaps this building was the only volatile creation remained from the storms of unhabitable surrealism.
Slowly I started getting myself…and slowly all the rotten realism started rushing back into my consciousness,
again I was getting paid for selling those untouchable times from the sole life.
I thought of taking shelter inside the strong caffeine this time,
the rain was coming again through all the open spaces…
I took a dump, smoked couple of cigarettes, ate some refrigerated chickens, swallowed two straight whiskeys and it was time to get under the sheets again,
sleeping world has always been unattained from wars and inequalities and fat discussions…
And it has always been a better world.
I was asleep…and I think the entire city outside this window worked fine without my awakened revolts.
Here I am still dreaming about meeting the soul of Starry Night on the shore.

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Photograph: Souichi Furusho.